


Second To None

by stargatefan_archivist



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Angst, Episode Tag, Episode: s09e01-02 Avalon, Gen, Missing Scene, Season/Series 09
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-23
Updated: 2007-12-23
Packaged: 2018-12-17 17:15:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 93,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11856096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stargatefan_archivist/pseuds/stargatefan_archivist
Summary: Jack's Clone goes to USAF BMT. POV. Challenge. ALL CHAPTERS HAVE BEEN UPDATED. Sixth WOT is up. Merry Christmas! (Sequel to To Sleep, Perchance to Dream) / Jon goes to Basic Training





	1. Second To None - Zero Week

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Yuma, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [Stargatefan.com](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Stargatefan.com). To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [StargateFan Archive Collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/StargateFan_Archive_Collection).

"Man finds nothing so intolerable as to be in a state of complete rest, without passions, without occupation, without diversion, without effort. Then he feels his nullity, loneliness, inadequacy, dependence, helplessness, emptiness. “ - Blaise Pascal (1623-1662)

Zero Week Agenda: Initial Physical Fitness Evaluation, Immunizations, Drug Testing, Uniform Issue, Nutrition Lesson, Haircuts, Uniform Code of Military Justice

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG—

Jon climbed off the small airplane with a grateful sigh. The Flight from Colorado Springs hadn’t been long, but it had been cramped. He walked down the San Antonio terminal with his ditty bag casually slung over his shoulder. He noticed the first sign directing him to the Air Force Receiving Station at the end of the terminal and grinned.

Jon had spent his last couple weeks before training getting his affairs in order. With Jack’s move to Washington DC, Jack and decided to sign over the house and truck to Jon. Jack figured that Jon would keep up the house when he got back from training and was assigned to Cheyenne Mountain. Jon had remarked that it was Jack’s way of not packing, because he was leaving everything except the clothes and a few pictures for Jon. They had finished signing everything last week. 

Jon took note of the bored Airman behind the desk. She was watching him as he approached and was trying to mentally will him away. He almost laughed when her mental ‘damn’ bounced off his shielding. Frowning at his grin, she snapped, “Last Name?”

“O’Neill, with two L’s.”

“Orders,” she stated as she held out her hand. He deftly placed his copy in her hand and waited for her to read. She typed away at the computer terminal and with a resigned sigh, began her well rehearsed speech. “As of now you are under the control of the 737th Training Group at Lackland Air Force Base. You are not to go anywhere without the express permission from one of the Training Instructors. This reception area is your last chance to get rid of any contraband. Tobacco products, alcohol, and any drugs without a prescription are strictly prohibited, including over the counter drugs, like Nyquil. The pay phones at the back are your last chance to contact home before Sunday. Any questions?”

“No, ma’am,” came Jon’s smart reply. 

He continued to grin at her as she frowned, “Take a seat. Your name will be called when the bus arrives.”

“Excellent, thanks.” Jon moved into the reception area just as another group approached her desk. 

Scanning the benches in front of him he decided to try the quiet corner away from the TV. Apparently, FoxNews and CNN were the only authorized channels, because one guy was busy switching between the two and failing to discover a third option. Jon settled down to read and to tune out the general air of nervous tension coming off of the other recruits.

An hour and one Air & Space Magazine later, Jon heard his name called. He left his magazine on the table, grabbed his bag and lined up where directed. The Training Instructor, or TI, was busy assessing the recruits with a practiced eye. 

Using sheer force of personality, the TI herded the new recruits to the awaiting bus. Some of the recruits began to relax, thinking that the BMT horror stories were just stories. This TI was nice and asked them to do everything nicely. Reprimands were few and softly given. Jon just smirked and waited for the TI to move the bus out of sight from the ‘poor civilians.’

A short time later the bus pulled to a stop outside one of the training dormitories. A new TI climbed on board and called a few names out. Those recruits left and the bus moved to the next set of dormitories. This time Jon’s name was called. He lined up exactly where directed in line with the other recruits. The bus pulled away. 

This TI was short and stocky. The kind of man that screamed boxer. He eyed the recruits several times before finally coming to the front and center. “Welcome to the 322nd Training Squadron, Flight 1342. I am your primary Training Instructor, Technical Sergeant Vega. Over there is my Assistant Training Instructor Senior Airman Reglin. This squadron holds one of the highest standards for training in the 737th Training Group. Our motto is ‘Second to None.’ I will accept nothing less then perfection from you. From here on out you will not speak unless spoken to. Understood?”

A pathetic chorus of ‘Yes’ and ‘Yes, Sir’ echoed from the group. Jon winced inside as the TI reacted to the sad display by shouting, “WHAT WAS THAT? You will respond with your answer, followed by ‘Sir’ or ‘Ma’am.’ You will address everyone who is not a trainee this way. Now, is that understood?”

“Yes, Sir,” the trainees began in unison.

“WHAT?” TSgt Vega asked again.

“YES, SIR,” the trainees shouted louder.

“WHAT?”

“YES, SIR,” the trainees shouted even louder.

“Better. I can’t believe that this is the quality of recruits coming into my Air Force today.” TSgt Vega backed up a few paces. “Now, on my command, you will form 2 lines in front of me. Luggage to your left side. Ready! FALL IN!”

The recruits grabbed their gear and shuffled forward to create the two lines. Jon made sure he was in the left line and once in place dropped his gear on the left side. The recruit to his right snapped into place quickly, but dropped his gear on his right. 

“Good grief? Are you recruits deaf? You, you, you, and you. Out of formation and drop! I want 15 push-ups now! Come on! I didn’t say you could get up!” he yelled at the one recruit who had cranked out 15 push-ups and had started to stand up. “15 more now! The rest of you, back in formation! Hurry up, recruit! The rest of the class is waiting for you! Now, back in place. Didn’t your mama teach you to listen. Now, I don’t like to repeat myself. It makes my normally bubbly personality fade away. I get a bit testy. SO DO NOT MAKE ME REPEAT MYSELF AGAIN! BAGS ON YOUR LEFT!” The four recruits quickly shifted their bags to their left side.

TSgt Vega stalked around the Flight inspecting their work. “Pathetic! I know that MY Air Force requires a high school education. What I don’t know is how you pathetic excuses for trainees can think that THIS is a LINE. THIS is not straight. THIS is bowed and curved in all the wrong places. STRAIGHTEN IT OUT NOW!” The trainees jumped to straighten out the line. 

“Better. But far from perfect. Now, I am a simple man who likes everything in order. Order is good. Chaos is bad. On my mark, I want everyone to pick up their bags and turn to their right. NOT YET! You will determine if you are taller than the recruit in front of you. Understood?”

“YES, SIR.”

“Ready. Pick ‘em up!” the recruits grabbed their bags and stood. “That was too slow. Put ‘em down! Pick ‘em up! All together now, put ‘em down! Pick ‘em up! This is just sad! I can’t believe that I am wasting my time on you! RIGHT – HACE!” Half a dozen of the recruits were caught by surprise and failed to turn with the group. 

“WHAT? ARE YOU NANCY’S PAYING ATTENTION? OR ARE WE MOVING TOO FAST FOR YOU? LEFT-HACE! RIGHT-HACE! LEFT-HACE! RIGHT-HACE! YOU ARE MAKING ME REPEAT MYSELF! COVER!” Recruits shuffled the tallest to the front. Jon was glad that he matched the other trainee in height. He would at least stay in the second row. 

“LEFT-HACE! COVER! Tallest to the front!” Jon shuffled forward. Unfortunately, he was now taller then everyone else in his row. When the last of the recruits had shuffled back into line, TSgt Vega began to address them again as he continued to circle the group like a shark with the scent of blood. “Now that we have a bit of order, I will instruct you on reporting. When addressed individually by any Training Instructor, you will give a reporting statement. The reporting statement is as follows, ‘Sir, Trainee – state your name – reports as ordered.’” TSgt Vega came to a stop in front of Jon. “Trainee, REPORT!”

“SIR, TRAINEE O’NEILL REPORTS AS ORDERED!” Jon shouted and waited for criticism. He braced himself for the shout and was surprised when nothing came forth.

Nodding, TSgt Vega continued around the Flight. “Trainee, REPORT!”

“SIR, TRAINEE JOHNSON REPORTING AS ORDERED!” came a confident reply. 

“And just what are you reporting, Trainee Johnson?”

“Uh, Sir?” came the confused response.

“Trainee Johnson, are you too stupid to follow the most simple directions. I asked you for a simple reporting statement. I don’t want the weather and traffic of what ever podunk town you come from. I could care less about the prices of oil in the Middle East, except that it takes more of my money to fill my tank. I have no idea why you would want to be reporting any of this to me. I don’t care. Your fellow trainees don’t care. The word that is so casually eluding your thick monkey-like skull is ‘reports.’ A trainee ‘reports’ as ordered. They are not reporting anything. Do I make myself clear?”

“YES, SIR.”

“Trainee, REPORT!”

“SIR, TRAINEE JOHNSON REPORTS AS ORDERED!”

“Trainee, REPORT!”

“SIR, TRAINEE JOHNSON REPORTS AS ORDERED!”

“Trainee, REPORT!”

“SIR, TRAINEE JOHNSON REPORTS AS ORDERED!”

Circling back around to the front, “Trainees, REPORT!”

“SIR, TRAINEE XXXX REPORTS AS ORDERED!” the group chorused.

“Trainees, REPORT!”

“SIR, TRAINEE XXXX REPORTS AS ORDERED!” the group chorused.

“It’ll do for now. SrA Reglin, if you will be so kind as to escort these unworthy souls to their new home,” TSgt Vega address the other TI, for the first time, in a normal tone of voice.

“Yes, Sir.” The young man approached the front of the Flight. “You will enter all facilities by column formation. YOU,” he pointed at the first column on the right, “are Element One. YOU are Element Two. And so forth. When given the command to enter a facility by columns, on the ‘harch’ command, Element One will begin to enter the facility. After the last person in Element One passes, the Element Two Leader will lead Element Two to follow Element One. Understood?”

“YES, SIR.”

“Good! BY COLUMNS, FOLLOW ME, HARCH,” and the SrA sprinted off towards the door. 

Confused the first trainee in Element One started running after him, followed by the rest of his column. As the last one passed him, Jon started after them at a quick walk. He entered the door and started up the stairs easily catching up to the tail of the first element. As he reached the first landing, the hapless leader of Element One was standing there and briefing all the trainees. “Walk. Do not run. Use the Hand Rails. Walk. Do not run. Use the Hand Rails. Walk. Do not run. Use the Hand Rails.” Jon barely suppressed a smirk as he passed the trainee and continued up the last Flight of stairs. 

Upon entering the dormitory, he was directed to deposit his bag on a bunk and proceed to the day room. He dropped his gear on the nearest empty bunk and quickly found a spot to sit in the day room on the floor staying carefully away from the tempting walls. No sooner was everyone in the day room than they were directed back to their bunks to collect the black pouches sitting on the chairs by the bunks. This activity, of course, was done too slowly, so they practiced a few times to increase speed. 

Apparently satisfied with their progress, the TI’s told them to open the pouch. “Inside you will find your Airman’s Training Order. Memorize it. It has all the information you need inside it. You will be required to pass two written tests based on the information in this ATO. It is your new best friend. DO NOT LOSE IT! In the clear view pouch on the front of your ATO, you will write the first letter of your last name and the last four of your social security number. This is your laundry mark. This is the only way you will be able to distinguish your ATO from your fellow trainee’s ATO. Is that understood?”

“YES, SIR.”

“Good, start studying,” TSgt Vega stated. He turned and whispered something to SrA Reglin and then left the dorm, nodding to the guard at the dorm door. 

Jon began to scan the ATO, but was disappointed that there was nothing new in it. It was a basic primer on the USAF. Rank structure, history, policies. Things that Jack had memorized so many years ago, he had forgotten when. He tried skimming for any changes to what his memory supplied and found that nothing was different. Well, nothing but the tobacco policy and the lengthy section on nutrition and fitness. He began tapping his foot in frustration. 

Jon took a deep breath. Settle down, Jon. You don’t want to call attention to yourself. Breath in, breath out. As he calmed his nervous frustration down, Jon began to feel the pull of the others in the room. Curious, he carefully lowered his shields and scanned the room. Most of the trainees were anxious and excited about starting training. The yelling had stressed them, but they had expected it. One or two were panicking, but nothing serious. Just the standard, ‘what the hell have I gotten myself into’ doubts. And young TI Reglin was thinking about his girlfriend. 

Borrrring! 

Jon was beside himself trying to keep his fidgety hands and feet under control when the dorm door was opened by the guard and a whole bunch of new trainees marched in looking hot and tired. Before long, they were running through the ATO fetch game again. Finally settled back into the day room again, TSgt Vega introduced SrA Reglin to the new folks. He repeated his speech about the ATO and glanced at his watch. Frowning, “Alright, it’s almost time for dinner. Pack up your ATO’s. On my command, you will line up at the dorm door and wait for release to chow. You have five minutes to use the latrine and line up with your ATO’s. Go!” 

In short order they were once again, lined up in formation on the patio deck next to the dorm. Jon was once again stuck as an element leader. TSgt Vega marched the group to the dining facility in the dorm building. Because they were the rainbow Flight, all the other BMT training Flights were given priority. Finally, they entered the facility hungry, hot, and tired. Once there, SrA Reglin was poised at the start of the chow line. “You will all take 4 glasses of water. You will drink all the water on your tray before being allowed to get any other beverage. Take as much food as you want, but you will eat all the food on your tray. You will not eat again till breakfast,” he instructed the new trainees. 

Jon ate quickly and cleanly. He took plenty of food the first time to ensure he didn’t have to go back for seconds. Already, one trainee was being harassed by the TI’s taking their leisure in the Snake Pit. 

The Snake Pit was the table where the TI’s ate. It was positioned in the dining facility in such a way that a trainee had to pass it to sit down, go to the latrine, pick up additional beverages, drop their dirty dishes off, or exit the dining facility. It was always staffed by at least one supervisor TI, or Blue Rope, for the bright blue rope that circled their TI hat. Their sole purpose in life was to find fault with the trainees and thus with the trainee’s TI.

Jon downed his water and added a few more glasses of milk. He used his bread to clean up the plates and then made his way past the Snake Pit to deposit his dirty dishes in the cleaning hutch. His first pass was clean, no TI called him out. But he didn’t make it past the Snake Pit a second time. “Trainee.”

Shit! Jon whipped around and locked at attention instinctively, “Sir, Trainee O’Neill reports as ordered.”

“How old are you, Trainee?” one TI asked. Jon could tell that they were bored and just wanted to poke fun at the newest trainees. All he had to do was act as scared as the rest. He didn’t want to call attention to himself. Yup, just another green trainee. Nothin’ to see here.

“Seventeen, Sir,” he lied. Yeah, like they would accept two years old of 50 for that matter. 

“Well, good golly gum drops, Sergeant, we’s robbing the cradle now. Just goes to show you that there is nothing good left in this generation of recruits. We’ve had to start on the next.”

“Where did you learn to stand properly, trainee?” a second TI asked while inspecting his stance. This caused the others to inspect his stance more closely. 

Damn it! I got careless. Jon had planned on slacking on his knowledge of military formations and drill until they had taught the rest of the Flight. He hadn’t listed Civil Air Patrol or Junior ROTC so that was out. “My uncle, Sir.”

“Was he in the service trainee?”

“Yes, Sir.” Uh oh. I don’t like where this is leading.

“What branch of service?” the first TI asked.

Double damn! “US Air Force, Sir.” Don’t ask. Don’t ask. Please, don’t ask.

“What’s his name, Trainee?” the second TI asked. 

Ok, let’s just try to slide it by them. “Jack O’Neill, Sir.”

“TRAINEE, YOU WILL GIVE PROPER RESPECT TO THOSE PEOPLE SERVING IN MY AIR FORCE. YOU WILL ALWAYS USE THEIR RANK WITH THEIR NAME EVEN IF THEY HAVE RETIRED FROM MY AIR FORCE. THEY HAVE EARNED THEIR RANK AND DESERVE THE RESPECT THAT COMES WITH IT. NOW, WHAT IS HIS NAME?”

Ok, you asked for it. Using his slightly rusty command voice, Jon responded, “MAJOR GENERAL JONATHAN JAMES O’NEILL, THE FIRST, SIR.” Jon tried not to smirk. But his ability to hide his smirk behind a blank face was easily out done by the skills of these TI’s at spotting a suppressed smirk. Heck, Hammond could have taken lessons from these guys. 

All the TI’s faces went blank. The whole dining facility went quiet. And into the quiet, one of the TI’s replied, “Do you think that makes a difference to me, Trainee O’Neill?” It wasn’t a shout, yell, or otherwise in any kind of loud voice, and that made it that much worse.

Shit! Shit! Shit! They knew his name now. Jon preferred being yelled at as a random, nameless trainee over having the TI, scratch that, TI’s plural, knowing his name. I sooo didn’t want to stand out in BMT. Oh well, too late now. “No, Sir!”

The TI with a blue rope on his shoulder leaned forward, “Trainee O’Neill, does this relation of yours plan on attending your graduation ceremony?” the blue rope asked with a predatory gleam in his eye.

Effing hell! How the heck was he supposed to answer that? If he said yes, than they would badger him about ‘assuming’ he would graduate. If he said no, they would call him a liar or a quitter, especially when Jack did show up. “Only if I graduate, Sir,” Jon replied carefully.

Nodding to himself, the blue rope TI turned to the others. They all shook their heads. Apparently, they didn’t want to stir this particular pot any more. “Dismissed, Trainee.”

“Yes, Sir.” Jon turned and walked off quickly. 

Jon had originally decided not to use his telepathy in BMT. He knew that the TI’s were just screening and instilling discipline in the trainees. Their job was to break down the civilian and build an Airman. That meant erasing all forms of individuality and creating a group that conforms to USAF standards. 

Now, he was rethinking his strategy. His powers could help him slip through BMT without too many difficulties. He could sway their opinions of him, and erase their doubts and questions before they were ever voiced. It would make getting through this training that much easier. But…

No. No cosmic voodoo. It would be wrong on so many levels to tinker with the TI’s. No matter how satisfying. He couldn’t justify messing with a system that obviously worked just to make his life easier. Best to take his medicine like a man. At least Jack was Air Force. Lord knows, how much worse this could get if Jack had been in the Navy. 

But now Jon would be singled out. He would be criticized and chastizied until he was ready to retaliate. And this special treatment wouldn’t be for anything that Jon actually had control over. Nope. Not for the lame joke, or insubordinate tone, but for the simple, sad fact that he was related to a General. His telepathy could help, but it wouldn’t stop the harrassment. 

Jon needed an outlet. A way to get back. To retaliate without his finely honed survival instinct kicking in. Why not give back as good as he got? With a few well placed practical jokes, Jon could test his rusty skills and get back at the TI’s without disrupting the BMT system. Good old fashioned sneakiness would work twice as well as any cosmic voodoo. Jon allowed himself one shit eating grin as he passed a blank wall on his way out to the patio. This could be fun.

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG—

The next day after a quick breakfast, the trainees were marched to the processing center. Here they were given the ever popular BMT haircut, issued ID cards, visited military pay, completed security clearance paperwork, given the standard round of shots, examined by medical, and asked for a urine sample. After lunch, they were escorted to a classroom where they were instructed on proper nutrition and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. Throughout it all the TI’s were yelling, screaming, and shouting. 

Nothing the trainees did was correct. They couldn’t stand correctly, walk correctly, sit correctly, talk correctly. No one was exempt from their roaring voices. They questioned motivations, parentage, and mental capacity with a flair that was giving Jon a new perspective on comprehensive verbal communication. Because in all this yelling, they didn’t utter a single profanity. Jon was impressed. 

However, Jon’s particular torment was the random questions and demonstration requests the TI’s would throw at him. Not just the TI’s in his Flight, but all the TI’s in the squadron. This was his punishment for being related to a general. Anything in the ATO was fair game, from pop quiz questions to formation movements. He was perpetually quizzed on customs and courtesies, rank structure, military history, and the Code of Conduct. Jon refused to pretend ignorance and instead successfully answered all their questions, demonstrated every drill movement. But this just seemed to piss them off more. 

Jon nearly had a flash back to Iraq when he was asked to recite the Code. The question had been a surprise, out-of-the-blue. He hadn’t been able to prepare himself for it. But he was able to hang on to his control and push through it. 

How were they supposed to know that Jack had used the Code to help keep him sane in that Iraqi prison? Chanting it to himself like a prayer. Let alone that Jon carried all those painful memories with him. Reciting the Code had brought all those painful memories back to the front. He had been relieved when TSgt Vega hadn’t pressed him for more after that question. He wasn’t sure he would have maintained his control for much longer.

Currently, the Flight was in the quiet class room listening to the local JAG discuss the UCMJ. The quiet times were all the more noticeable for the decided lack of yelling. Classroom instruction was relatively free from the constant verbal abuse, but the slightest bit of inattention would change that in a heartbeat. Halfway through the UCMJ briefing, Jon was pulled from the group by the TI. 

Out on the patio, Jon and TSgt Vega met a man in a business suit.

“Sir, Trainee O’Neill reports as ordered,” Jon stated, snapping to attention in front of the stranger.

“O’Neill, huh?” the man asked cautiously. “I’m Agent Coleman from OSI. I’ve been directed by my superiors to cease and desist my investigation into your security clearance. I have been told that you already possess a clearance and that I am not cleared to even know what level you possess, except that it is a TS classification.”

Jon nodded, already knowing this, “Yes, Sir?” As in… therefore… meaning…

“You already knew about the clearance?” the agent asked, probing.

Jon thought carefully before replying. He had the clearance because his whole existance was highly classified. Never mind the excess baggage in memories that Jack had, albeit against his will, bequethed him. Jon replied, mindful of the watching TI, “Yes, Sir. I’ve been involved in an Air Force Special Project for several years, Sir.”

The agent flinched visibly at the phrase ‘special project.’ “Ah… well, I just wanted to let you know that my little investigation will throw up some red flags on your file. Do you need to contact anyone?”

“No, Sir. They are already aware that I am in BMT and they are expecting something of this sort, Sir. You may expect a team to investigate, Sir. However, they will be briefed on the circumstances prior to their arrival.”

“Okay… Um, thanks, Trainee,” the agent finished lamely.

“Dismissed,” TSgt Vega barked at Jon.

“Yes, Sir,” Jon executed a perfect about face and walked back to the classroom.

As he headed back, he could hear Vega quietly ask the agent, “Is he untouchable? I need to know what I’m up against in the kid.”

“Let me put it this way, when the Office of the President calls to ask why you are doing a back ground check on one of his agents, it tends to freak you out. To have someone from said office call before you have finished entering the initial security clearance application in the system, goes way beyond freaked out and into the twilight zone. I think that he is way beyond untouchable. But honestly, you and I aren’t cleared to know just how untouchable.”

Jon grinned as he slid back into the classroom. Tonight, he needed to do some recon and collect some supplies. He might be ‘untouchable’ but that wouldn’t stop the TI’s from singling him out for ‘special treatment.’ So he might as well press forward with his plan.

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG—

Jon’s recon of the dorm had given him some vital intel. For example, the fire alarm on the emergency exit could be easily bypassed with a small stick, if it truly worked at all. The roof was never used and had accumulated junk and trash. And there was a Starbuck’s coffee and McDonald’s within sight of the dorm. So, Jon snuck up to the roof and hid his debit card, a change of clothes, and a few miscellaneous items amid the debris. He just needed a bit more information and the fun would begin in earnest.

The next day, the Flight was marched to the logistics building where they were finally issued their uniforms. PC gear, sneakers, BDU’s, boots, web gear, helmet, flashlights, and the other gear they would use during the next few weeks. They were even issued underwear and socks. They also were fitted for their blues, though they would not be ready for pick up for a few weeks. Finally in uniform, the TI’s locked all their civilian possessions away.

That afternoon was spent learning how to fold clothes, make the bed, clean the locker, bathroom, etc. Jon knew that none of this would matter in a few weeks. So after initially perfecting his folded underwear technique, he spent the majority of his time plotting his first few pranks. 

That night Jon found that the access door to the maintenance room was left unlocked. It gave him free back door access to the whole building. He snuck back to the dormitory past the dorm guard to his bunk. Tomorrow, Operation Payback would begin. 

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG—

Saturday morning dawned bright and early. TSgt Vega walked to the dorm quietly. Not that it would matter, the newest trainees always slept soundly. They were too stressed and exhausted to do anything else, especially at 0430. He had a few minutes to wake SrA Reglin and let him get sorted. He walked into the TI dorm office and kicked the bunk. SrA Reglin opened his eyes and nodded, before grabbing his things to wash up. 

TSgt Vega did a quick walk through of the dorm to ensure everyone was in their bunks before he woke them up. The first few weeks of basic were exhausting for both the TI’s and the trainees. The TI’s were up the before the trainees and went to sleep after, but were not supposed to show the slightest bit of discomfort or exhaustion. Thank God, the trainees were too zoned out by the third day to realize how exhausted the TI’s really were. 

When he returned to the office, the smell of fresh coffee enticed him back inside. He was about to yell at SrA Reglin for brewing the coffee, when the Airman in question thanked him for picking up breakfast. The mystery deepened when TSgt Vega denied bringing it into the office. They both shook off the odd incident when reveille sounded and they had a Flight to wake up.

“GET UP! GET UP! GET UP! RISE AND SHINE, CUPCAKES! IT’S ANOTHER DAY IN PARADISE!” TSgt Vega and SrA Reglin strode through the two dorm bays yanking back covers and banging their sticks on the bed frames. Most of the trainees jumped out of bed to stand next to their lockers. “PC gear and ready to leave in 5 minutes. GO!”

Trainees scurried left and right to empty their bladders, get the correct uniform on, and in line by the door on time. He was surprised to see 4 of the trainees correctly attired and ready to go within 60 seconds. The Flight was lined up within the time limit. Not having that excuse, TSgt Vega hollered about the general state of their PC uniform, their unshaven appearance, etc. before leading the whole Flight down to the parade deck for physical conditioning. Today, they would be evaluated for general physical fitness. 

“ALRIGHT, LADIES! LET’S SEE JUST HOW UNFIT YOU ARE TO BE IN MY AIR FORCE!”

First, the Flight of trainees was timed while running individually on a track. The TI’s continued to yell at the trainees to ensure they gave the jog their best effort. Regardless, the trainees couldn’t seem to run fast enough to the TI’s. But after the last few days, the trainees had learned that they couldn’t do any thing fast enough for the TI’s. So why would running be any different.

After the run, the TI’s formed up the trainees to test for strength training. They ran the trainees through a series of exercises, including push-ups, reverse push-ups, sit-ups, leg lifts, flutter kicks, squats, and pull-ups. 

They started off with push-ups. The TI called down and then waited in the down position until the TI called up. Anyone who failed to hold position, or worse, let their chest hit the ground, received special attention by the TI’s. This also caused the rest of the Flight to wait, usually in the down position, until the TI was done yelling at the one individual. 

Next, they did reverse push-ups. Imagine doing a push up while belly up. Not as easy as it sounds. After push-ups, they went into sit-ups. One trainee would hold the feet of another trainee as they did full sit-ups, not those sissy crunches. 

Next, came the leg lifts. It sounds so simple. Lay flat on the ground, lift your feet a few inches off the ground, and hold. Not so easy when TI’s are yelling at you for lifting your feet too high, too low, or not holding them still enough. 

Then, as if your abs didn’t hurt enough, the TI’s called for flutter kicks. Flutter kicks are leg lifts with a scissor kick movement. Rumor has it that some demented Marine Drill Instructor invented this particular form of torture. Trainees are expected to keep this up as long as the TI can yell. Needless to say that the trainee’s muscles failed long before the TI’s voices. 

Squats came next. Standing with hands on hips, feet shoulder width apart, then squat and hold until the TI lets you up. After a few minutes, you forget about your aching abs in favor of your aching thighs.

Finally, the Flight goes through pull-ups. Hands facing out, never in. For this lesson in humility, the TI’s yell at the trainees attempting the pull-ups. Five pull-ups are the holy grail in pleasing the TI. Anything less, is ‘proving how pathetically weak you really are.’

After PC, the whole Flight of 50 had 10 minutes to shower and change for breakfast. 

Almost two hours after reveille, TSgt Vega was hot and tired and ready for breakfast. Not a good combination. He could already tell that at least 3 trainees would have to be washed back just for fitness. Well, he would start pounding on them to get them at least half way there. Then their next TI would be able to get them passed through. As for the rest, almost all of them needed work. The body builders needed to learn how to run, the runners needed to learn how to condition for strength. But overall, they were about average for a new Flight. Hopefully, just the 3 would have problems getting into passable condition.

The true enigmas were the 5 trainees that could pass the physical evaluation right now. They had obviously been coached on the exact standards and what they needed to pass. His challenge with them would be in keeping them in condition while the other trainees caught up to them. He already knew that O’Neill had been coached extensively, probably by his uncle. The others must have had good recruiters. Well, five is a good number for formation runs. They could set the pace for the less fit members. Hell, why not make them the Flight trainee leadership? It’s not like this group had any older trainees. Summers were usually just the high school graduates. So, what the hell.

“Jackson, Ruso, O’Neill, Skoke, Thomas. FRONT AND CENTER!” TSgt Vega grinned at the trainees as they hustled from the PC formation to the front.

“SIR, TRAINEE XXXX REPORTS AS ORDERED.”

“You five appear to have listened to your recruiters and actually tried to get physically fit. Since I am a firm believer that no good deed should go unpunished, I have selected you five for leadership positions. Which of you has knowledge of basic drill and formations? Take one step forward.” He stared directly at Trainee O’Neill as he stated his question, knowing that the trainee couldn’t deny knowledge after the pounding the TI’s had been giving him the last few days.

The Trainee cautiously stepped forward. The others stayed in place. “Good. YOU… are my new Dorm Chief.” He pointed to O’Neill. “YOU… are the leader of Element One.” He pointed to the tallest of the four, Skoke. “YOU… are the leader of Element Two.” He pointed to the next tallest, Jackson. “YOU… Three.” He pointed to Thomas. “And YOU… Four.” The last was directed to the shortest of the four, Ruso. “I will brief you on your specific duties and responsibilities later. Now, line ‘em up for chow,” he ordered. 

Usually, when he selected the trainee leadership, they failed spectacularly in getting the rest of the group to follow their commands. At least initially. He grinned at the confused looks the four element leaders gave him. Yep, prime entertainment.

“FLIGHT, FALL IN BY FOUR.” Trainee O’Neill’s voice rang out, startling the TI. He usually had to coach the parade voice out of new trainees. Hell, the kid could have been a TI in a former life. TSgt Vega was unsurprised to see the trainees react to ‘the voice.’ He knew that at this point they would follow anyone with a loud voice, even if dressed in a tutu. “DRESS AND COVER.” O’Neill ordered before the TI could remind him. The Flight shuffled to get into place and square the formation. “SOUND OFF! ONE!” 

“TWO!” “THREE!” “FOUR!”… the trainees conducted a quick roll-call. “FIFTY!”

Upon completion of roll-call, Trainee O’Neill, executed a perfect about-face and salute, “ALL PRESENT AND ACCOUNTED FOR, SIR!” 

TSgt Vega was impressed. Of course, he couldn’t show it. “Sloppy, but it’ll do for now. Take your place to the right of the last person in Element One,” he directed, not sure if he really wanted to know if the trainee knew that as well. Then he marched them to chow.

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

That whole day TSgt Vega was plagued by weird events. First, he was called away to the CQ for a phone call, but when he arrived, no phone call was waiting or even logged. Next, the mysterious breakfast was followed by a fresh two cups of Starbuck’s coffee after lunch. Then, the mysterious handouts on sexual transmitted diseases started showing up all over the building. He left them in the CQ for the other TI’s. 

On top of the oddities, TSgt Vega didn’t feel like he was in top form. He had tried everything in his power to rattle the O’Neill kid. Nothing. The kid was immune to yelling and insults. In fact, he damn near laughed at several of his best insults. He almost thought that he had him with the Code of Conduct question the other day. When the kid went pale, he thought that the kid didn’t have it all memorized yet. But then the kid had started to recite the Code like a mantra, not missing a single word. And he had a distant look in his eye, like he was reliving a memory. A very bad memory. TSgt Vega found it very odd. In fact, it creeped him out. 

He hated to admit that this trainee was any different from the thousands of other recruits that he had molded into Airmen. His almost savant-like knowledge of the ATO and his picture perfect drill, led the good sergeant to believe that the kid had already been through military training. But at seventeen, he couldn’t have been. Not even JROTC was this thorough. 

TSgt Vega was looking forward to a break during the afternoon lectures. He needed to check the roster and schedules for the next few weeks. He walked into the CQ and waved at the Staff Sergeant on duty. 

“Hey, Vega. Could you mind the phone for a minute? I need to answer a call of nature.”

“Sure, Metcalf.”

The SSgt disappeared into the small latrine and TSgt Vega checked the pass-on book. Nothing happening. Good. Nice quiet Saturday with a new baby Flight. Happy Day! He couldn’t wait for Week Three when he could have his evenings off again. He was getting too old to stay up these kinds of hours anymore.

He heard a muffled curse from the latrine. SSgt Metcalf came bursting out of the latrine pale and shaking. “Wow! What’s wrong?”

“I… uh… I need to go to sick call,” came Metcalf’s shaky reply.

“Easy, when is your relief?”

The SSgt looked at him with wide eyes. “Lunch, any minute now.”

“Okay, easy. Just a few minutes and you can go. Do you need someone to take you?”

“NO!” he shouted quickly. “I mean… no. I’m good… good.”

TSgt Vega nodded, yeah right! “I’ll be in the office. Let me know if you need anything.” 

The SSgt picked up the STD pamphlet and started to read, “Sure.” 

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

Later that afternoon, he walked back into the CQ. Two of the other TI’s were gossiping.

“I’m telling you, if Metcalf finds out who spiked his food with that red dye, there is going to be hell to pay.”

“What?” TSgt Vega asked.

One of the grinning TI’s started laughing, “Oh, someone played a practical joke on Metcalf. They spiked his coffee with natural red dye then scattered these STD handouts all over the place. When he went to take a piss, it came out red and he thought he’d caught an STD. But the test came back negative and the doctor asked him about eating or drinking anything with red dye in it. Man was he pissed.” 

“Wow! That’s one mean practical joke. I’ll have to remember that next time I need a little revenge. So, you get a fax for me?” TSgt Vega asked.

“Right, here,” the sergeant on CQ duty replied.

“Thanks.”

Off base coffee, weird crank calls, and now a full blown practical joke on the CQ. Looks like one of the other TI’s wanted to start a practical joke war. Great! I just keep me out of it. I got enough on my hands with a baby Flight. I don’t want to have to look over my shoulder for practical jokers too. With a sigh, he headed back to the dorm.

CONTINUED IN ‘SECOND TO NONE – FIRST WEEK’


	2. Second To None - First WOT

“Activity and sadness are incompatible.” Unknown Source

Week One Agenda: Weapons Issue, M-16 Breakdown & Reassembly, First Week Briefing, Records/ID Processing, Medical & Dental Processing, Dress & Appearance I, Rank Recognition

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

Jon woke to the sound of reveille Sunday morning and the shouting of the two TI’s. He hoped they liked his gift this morning. He had left a six pack of No-Doz on the desk after returning from his latest recon and acquisition trip. Since TSgt Vega had appointed Jon the Dorm Chief, Jon found it easier to slip in and out at night. The Dorm Chief was the bunk right next to the TI’s office, which also happened to be well out of site of the Dorm Guard. And since the Dorm Guard was the only one awake all night long, he was easy to bypass.

The TI had made Jon and the other Element Leaders switch bunks to ‘make them more accessible.’ The Element Leaders were in the first bunk in each row in the bays. Bay A housed Elements One and Two. Bay B housed Elements Three and Four. 

Since Jon and the other element leaders had to switch bunks anyway, Jon had made the decision to have everyone bunk in element order. This way the trainees would always be in the correct order. And as TSgt Vega had made perfectly clear on their first day; order is good. Chaos is bad.

“LINE UP FOR PC IN 5,” SrA Reglin barked.

Jon dressed and immediately got to work pushing the stragglers towards the front. He was the last to line up after he and his element leaders cleared the bays and the latrine. 

Jon didn’t mind being Dorm Chief. In reality, it involved absolutely no leading. It was just a way for the TI to piece out the responsibility of herding the trainees to their various appointments. Jon figured that if he was going to be singled out anyway, why not be Dorm Chief and save one of the other trainees the grief. Besides, as Dorm Chief, he would be more mobile than the other trainees and thus more able to pull off some of his more elaborate pranks.

Speaking of which, it was almost time for his most elaborate prank. On last night’s acquisition mission, Jon purchased a laptop. It’s amazing what you can find in a 24-hour Wal-Mart store. It took nearly an hour, but he was able to program the laptop to call the public address (PA) system for the squadron through the internet. His next programming feat was to set it up to dial the system at specific times and play pre-recorded messages. The first of which should play at about 0630 this morning, during breakfast.

Jon ate his breakfast quickly and departed for the patio with the rest of his Flight. Just as TSgt Vega exited the building, the PA announcement warning was heard. All around him, trainees snapped to attention. 

“Attention in the squadron. All trainees are to make the following change in their ATO, page 15. Insert the following into the diagram for Chain of Command, above Trainee and below Training Instructor – All Creation, including dirt. Repeat – All Creation, including dirt. Contact CQ for details about this change.”

Jon had a clear view of TSgt Vega’s face as the message registered. Surprise and shock were clearly visible. Dutifully, trainees around him began to pull out their ATO’s to make the change. TSgt Vega stood in shock for a full minute, then immediately and loudly started countermanding the order to change the ATO; dressing down any trainee that didn’t immediately put the ATO away. 

“O’NEILL! GET ‘EM BACK TO THE DORM NOW!” TSgt Vega hollered and then strode away for the doorway to the CQ, leaving confused trainees in his wake. 

Once he was gone, Jon was unable to contain his smile. Grinning he called out, “FLIGHT 1342, FALL IN!” His Flight quickly formed up and they marched the short distance back to their dorm. Once back in the dorm, he told them to clean their bunk areas and their assigned common areas. 

A half hour later, TSgt Vega and SrA Reglin still hadn’t shown up. Jon was running out of things to keep them busy. So, with nothing else, he started an impromptu ATO class in the dayroom; starting with rank recognition.

“I’ll never get the order for the flag officers right,” one trainee announced. “I mean, why is Lieutenant General higher than Major General, when a Major outranks a Lieutenant. And why in the hell are they called flag officers instead of Generals.”

Jon grinned. They were trying to apply logic to the military. “Because they post a flag outside the building when they are in residence and an Admiral is a flag officer, but not a General. Just memorize it. Don’t analyze it.”

“Right, just memorize it,” came another trainee’s dry response. 

“Let me make it easy for you. Brigadier General, Major General, Lieutenant General, General. Be My Little General,” Jon laughed at their reactions to the memory device.

“Cool! Where did you learn that?”

Jon shrugged, “My uncle gave me a few pointers. Of course, it helps that I’ve been around Air Forces bases for most of my life.” Well, most of Jack’s life anyway.

“You have another one for the other ranks?” a third trainee asked.

Jon thought carefully, “Not as good as that one. Let’s see…

“Airman Basic – basically knows nothing, so no stripes… 

“Airman – may know something but isn’t sure what, one stripe for still being a baby… 

“Airman First Class – is absolutely sure that they want a First Class ticket home, two stripes... 

“Senior Airman – been an Airman so long they qualify for social security benefits, three stripes... 

“Staff Sergeant – had staff surgically implanted upon promotion, four stripes... 

“Technical Sergeant – technically a sergeant, but acts like an officer, five stripes… 

“Master Sergeant – slave driver, six stripes, one over the top to protect from all the shit from above… 

“Senior Master Sergeant – been a MSgt so long they qualify for social security benefits, seven stripes, two over the top since the shit from above has doubled… 

“Chief Master Sergeant – God of all he surveys, eight stripes, three over the top, immune from all the shit from above… 

“Command Chief Master Sergeant – Base Commander’s pet Chief, eight stripes with a star, often thinks he is equal with a Brigadier General… 

“Chief Master Sergeant of the Air Force – Air Force Chief of Staff’s pet Chief, eight stripes with an eagle and wreath, having learned from being a CCMS, he now thinks he only outranks full bird Colonels…”

Jon heard a snort from the hallway and froze. Shit! He whipped around and peeked out the dayroom door to see SrA Reglin taking deep breaths to try and control his laughter and wiping tears away. Jon turned and jerked his thumb at the door and mouthed ‘Reglin.’ The rest of the Flight quickly became quiet and studied their ATO’s closely.

A few minutes later, SrA Reglin entered the dayroom looking as serious as ever. He chewed Jon out for daring to ‘sully the honorable ranks’ with his trite comments. Then he dispersed the Flight to various cleaning duties and for the various religious services. 

That afternoon, the trainees were escorted to the break patio and allowed to call home. However, they were only allowed three minutes to let their loved ones know that they had arrived safely and here was their new mailing address. The quick call both helped and hurt. Jon called Daniel knowing he wouldn’t be home and left a message on his machine.

Later, through the gossip chain, Jon heard that someone had placed fake vomit in every water fountain in the building, including each of the guarded dormitories. Trainee speculation was high on which TI had masterminded the prank as they polished their boots on the patio that evening. The trainees turned in to bed exhausted, but ready to face the coming week.

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

The Flight woke to the sound of Manic Monday by the Bangles instead of the usual reveille, followed by a very pissed off TSgt Vega shouting at the PA speaker. Jon was sure that that particular shade of red indicated a dangerously high blood pressure. He would have commented on it, but found that he liked his head firmly attached to his shoulders. 

As PC and breakfast seemed to progress without any more practical jokes, TSgt Vega seemed to regain some of his equilibrium. The Flight proceeded to the processing center and completed their tasks without incident. TSgt Vega and SrA Reglin were back into top shouting form. Well, they were loud anyway. Lunch was the typical eat on the run and execute escape and evasion (E&E) techniques when near the Snake Pit. However, the TI’s in the Snake Pit were impossible to evade. Finally free from the dining facility, the Flight was just forming up on the covered deck when a blue rope TI stormed out of the CQ doorway. 

“YOU,” he shouted at TSgt Vega. “HAVE YOUR FLIGHT FORM A BUCKET BRIGADE AND FOLLOW ME.”

“ELEMENT ONE, RETURN THE DORM AND BRING THE BUCKETS AND MOPS. ELEMENTS TWO THROUGH FOUR, STAND FAST. O’NEILL ON ME,” TSgt Vega ordered and followed the blue rope back into the CQ hallway. Jon followed closely. What he saw as he entered the main CQ area was a vast wall of bubbles, floor to ceiling, pouring out of the CQ latrine doorway. The three TI’s were valiantly trying to contain the mass from spreading further into the room while the Squadron Commander, Colonel Harding was wading into the latrine trying to find its source. 

“TRAINEE, HAVE YOUR FLIGHT START TRANSPORTING THIS MESS TO THE PARKING LOT!” the blue rope barked.

“YES, SIR!” Jon replied, before running back to the Flight. “FLIGHT, FALL OUT AND FOLLOW ME!” The Flight hurried after him into the hallway. 

Jon directed the element leaders to coordinate the Flight into a bubble transport team. Before too long they had eliminated enough of the bubbles for Colonel Harding to find the cause of the mess. 

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

The practical joker had struck again. Someone had dumped a bottle of dish shop in each of the toilets in the latrine and then added dry ice. The bubbling toilets had quickly filled the small latrine with bubbles. They only stopped when the dry ice was removed. Colonel Harding was pissed. No, pissed didn’t quite cover it.

Livid and soaking wet, Col. Harding stood in the latrine doorway angry enough to eat nails. The joker would pay. Article 15, loss of a stripe, no make that all their stripes, correctional custody for at least a month, maybe more. Mumbling about Article 15’s and correctional custody, Col. Harding exited the latrine and surveyed the damage. 

The latrine was soaked and still had bubbles in every nook and cranny, even the ceiling tiles were wet. However, everything in there was water proof. So, no real damage. The CQ reception area, however, was another matter. The carpet nearest the latrine was soaked. The posters and other notices on the walls surrounding the latrine door were wet and in some cases unreadable. The bubbles hadn’t reached the desk or any of the electronic equipment. So, physical damage was limited to some posters and paper. However, the damage to the unit’s reputation was more extensive and harder to repair.

“Have this latrine and carpet cleaned and replace that,” he pointed to the paperwork on the walls. “And just where in the hell are those damn Captains of mine?”

The TI on CQ duty, looked up, “At lunch, Sir.”

“Lunch. Great.” Col. Harding continued to scan for physical damage when he noticed the sneakers. What? Then he noticed almost an entire training Flight lining the hallway. A baby Flight. Sneakers meant they were still in their First WOT. Just perfect!

The other practical jokes had been harmless, but more importantly, they had been relatively invisible to the trainees. A few harmless crank calls, a bogus PA announcement, and a sudden rash of red piss didn’t harm the morale of the unit. If anything, it helped to relieve some of the strain the instructors were under. 

But this prank had gone too far. It was visible to the trainees and undermined the authority of the TI’s. And not just any trainees, but a whole baby Flight of trainees. 

Mother-effing hell! Someone will pay! He wound up to give good verbal tongue lashing on all the TI’s present, when the PA sounded. Surprised, he glared at the TI on CQ duty who was well away from the controls.

“Attention in the Squadron. All Training Instructors are required to report to the Anger Management Class in Room 104 in lieu of dinner. Repeat, all Training Instructors are required to report to the Anger Management Class in Room 104 in lieu of dinner. Contact Col. Harding for details.”

The colonel’s eyes snapped to each of the three TI’s present in the CQ office. “What a good idea,” the colonel replied in a very low and dangerous voice. “This ends today. I want all instructors in the conference room at 1800. The rest of the squadron is on lock down at that time.” 

“YES, SIR!” the TI’s chorused.

“Dismissed!” Col. Harding spun around and headed to the locker-room to change into a clean uniform.

“FLIGHT 1342, FORM UP OUTSIDE.” 

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

TSgt Vega left the classroom after the commander had dressed down the entire cadre of instructors. He spent extra time dressing down the poor CQ TI in front of the entire cadre. The Colonel then made it perfectly clear that anyone who played a practical joke would be immediately sent to correctional custody, or CC, for an attitude adjustment. He also made it clear that it was everyone’s top priority to determine who the prankster was and to report them and any of their pranks immediately.

And as if that wasn’t enough, Col. Harding had pulled him aside and asked him if he would need any help controlling the potential damage this incident did to his baby Flight. TSgt Vega was to report on the status of the discipline and morale of his Flight to the commander daily. DAILY! Hell, no, he didn’t need any help. He wasn’t even sure if any damage was done. He was on his way to CQ now to do a ‘listen in’ and find out what his Flight had been up to during the lock down.

The CQ intercom could be activated in the dorm without the dorm residents knowing. This allowed the CQ on duty to listen in on any conversations. It was usually used with the older Flights that had earned some TI-free time. If the Flight violated that trust, the TI would know and the Flight would be clueless as to how the TI had found out.

“I want to listen in on 5-A,” he told the CQ.

The CQ hit the mute and then the intercom button for 5-A. Muffled voices could be heard, “Pick it up… faster… Thomas, have the Latrine Queen and the rest of the Bowling Team finish up and join the rest of us in the drills… Everyone to their bunks… Ready. Line up… Nope, we need to be faster… Back! Let’s try it again. Ready. Line up…”

“Well, I’ll be damned!” the CQ muttered. 

TSgt Vega grinned, “So much for damage control. They don’t seem to be slacking off on the discipline at all. Heck, they’ve been unsupervised for almost and hour and they are still working.”

“…Come on, O’Neill. It’s not like the TI is here. We should be kicking back…” a voice drifted through the speaker.

“…Look, Tinney, this isn’t about the TI. It’s about getting our shit together as a Flight. We have this opportunity to practice without the TI’s yelling at us. Seize the damn day, already. Now, either line up or get the f—k out of our way. Comprede muchacho?...” TSgt Vega recognized his Dorm Chief’s voice.

“…Yeah, fine, whatever…” came the second voice again.

“…Alright, again. Let’s make this one our personal best… Ready. Line up!...” 

TSgt Vega smiled. The kid may not scare easy, but he sure knew how to build teamwork. He would rather have a competent Dorm Chief over an intimidated trainee any day “Shut it off. Thanks for the help,” he called as he left to rejoin his Flight.

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

Tuesday dawned bright and early to the normal sound of reveille. TSgt Vega was in a good mood as a result. Hopefully, Col Harding had scared the prankster into hiding permanently. By breakfast, TSgt Vega was almost whistling. He ordered the Flight into breakfast and headed to the CQ to pick up some requisition forms. He had almost made it to the Snake Pit to sit down for breakfast, when he heard a snap, like a mouse trap. Looking up, he watched in horror as a cloud of blue and silver glitter fell from the ceiling right onto the four TI’s in the Snake Pit.

Oh my God! 

Taking several steps back to avoid the drifting glitter, TSgt Vega did a quick scan of the room to see that the entire room was watching the TI’s in stunned silence, even the trainees on KP. Shit! Shit! Shit! 

The blue rope TI in the Snake Pit rose to his feet slowly, sending glitter drifting in every direction. He glanced at the other victims. When one tried to speak, he stopped them with a single finger. Then spoke with deadly calm, “Gentlemen, please go change. TSgt Vega, please coordinate with the KP team to clean this mess up. I’ll go inform the Commander.” 

In silence the glitter-covered TI’s exited the dining facility. Once they left, the trainees immediately started shoveling breakfast down as quickly as possible. Apparently, none of them wanted to remain for the commander’s arrival. TSgt Vega couldn’t blame them. He didn’t want to stay either. Sighing, he left to find the contractor in charge of the dining facility.

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

TSgt Vega began to tense up again as his Flight approached the squadron area. He was dreading the return to the practical joke free-for-all at the squadron. Once he had marched his Flight away, he had been able to relax a bit without worrying about becoming the next victim of a practical joke. 

Of course, he had taken most of his frustration out on his trainees, as it should be. Though, he honestly didn’t see too many mistakes or errors. They still couldn’t drill quite yet, but they had only been at it a week. They still bounced too much, but that would go away with time. 

They had worked well this morning at the armory. Each trainee had been issued their training weapons, and received several hours training on breaking down and reassembling the M-16. They would practice and clean the weapons tonight and attempt to qualify on the range tomorrow. That left this afternoon for drill practice. 

The only unusual incidents outside the practical jokes had involved his Dorm Chief, as usual. When the Combat Arms Technician handed the rifle to Trainee O’Neill, the trainee had quickly cleared the weapon without instruction and nodded to the technician before moving on to the next station. 

Later, the trainee had asked him if they were required to sling the weapons over their shoulder or could they cross-hang them, as long as everyone hung them the same way. When asked to demonstrate, he repositioned the rifle so that it hung free on his chest, leaving his hands free. Seeing the advantages to this position, TSgt Vega approved and watched as the trainee instructed the others in how to hang the rifle correctly. 

Throughout the morning, TSgt Vega felt vaguely uneasy at the casual way the trainee handled the rifle, like it belonged there. In a way, he guessed that it did. He had caught the trainee casually resting his arms on the weapon. Another time, the trainee had been directing the other trainees with his left hand while his right rested ready on the grip of the rifle, but his finger never strayed to the trigger. He was obviously familiar with the weapon and had handled it loaded many times before. That kind of training always showed true. Even John Wayne could never seem to keep his finger off the trigger though he was as casual in his handling.

The other thing that bothered TSgt Vega was that O’Neill almost acted like a different person carrying the M-16. He oozed a command presence that no recruit should have, especially in First WOT. TSgt Vega felt that he was catching a glimpse of the man that the kid would eventually grow into. TSgt Vega felt a surge of pride that he would have a hand in shaping that future man, to help him grow to reach his full potential. 

Yup, some days being a TI was worth every sleepless night and every bout with laryngitis.

“FLIGHT, HALT,” he called out, having reached the dorm. “CLEAN UP, RACK THE WEAPONS, AND RETURN HERE FOR DRILL IN 5. FALL OUT.”

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

That evening, just before lights out, the PA activated again. “Attention in the Squadron. Until further notice, God may not contradict any orders given by the Training Instructors. Repeat, God may not contradict any orders given by the Training Instructors. God must contact the Chaplin’s Office directly to request a change of orders. Contact Chaplin’s Office for details.”

TSgt Vega sighed and called lights out as his Flight settled in to sleep.

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

And so the week progressed. 

Wednesday morning saw the floors of the dining facility covered in a snap power concoction made from mixing iodine crystals and ammonia and allowed to dry. It would pop and spark with each step. KP detail was ordered to carefully clean it up and to dispose of it in a metal trash can for pick up and disposal. However, SrA Reglin had heard from another TI that the occasional snap could still be heard throughout lunch. 

The Flight spent Wednesday at the firing range, taking MRE’s for lunch. Ten trainees initially failed to qualify at all and had to be coached into Category III. Another 12 qualified as Category III, 9 in Category II, and the reminder in Category I. 7 shot expert. And one trainee had a perfect score, a first for TSgt Vega. However, TSgt Vega was unsurprised to find that O’Neill was the trainee.

The evening prank announcement came over the PA just after 1900 hours. “Attention in the Squadron. Until further notice, the proper form of address for the Squadron Commander is Colonel or Sir. Anyone found addressing the commander as ‘His Majesty’ or ‘Dad’ will be reported to the First Sergeant.”

It was quickly followed by another not so bogus announcement, “All Flights send a runner to CQ. Repeat, all Flights send a runner to CQ.”

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

Thursday was spent in the classroom and on the parade ground drilling. It wasn’t until late evening that TSgt Vega learned about the latest prank. The trickster had snuck into the Commander’s office and using a single piece of string, connected everything in the office. Once the commander opened the door the whole room was disrupted. 

The commander had the phone number to the PA system changed the night before, but the trickster had found the new number and dinner was greeted with: “Attention in the squadron. Each Flight needs to send a runner to CQ to pick up the monthly supply of Flight line. Repeat, each Flight needs to send a runner to CQ to pick up the monthly supply of Flight line.” The two TI’s in the Snake Pit were unable to hide their snorts of laughter from the trainees. The trainees in-turn shrugged confused about the joke.

Friday morning greeted the trainees with the Finally Friday song by Kenny Chesney. TSgt Vega just grinned and pushed his trainees down to PC. At breakfast, they found all the sugar dispensers were superglued to the tables. 

TSgt Vega actually sighed in relief. The main prank was over so they could get on with their day. Only the PA announcement was left, and that wouldn’t ruin his day. He thought that it should bother him that these pranks were becoming routine. But then made a conscious decision not to care. So with a clear mind, he formed up the trainees and led them off to Wilford Hall Medical Center for final medical and dental screening.

That evening over dinner he actually cracked a grin at the prank announcement, “Attention in the Squadron. Any trainee interested in donating funds to the Anti-Mime campaign in Bosnia, please contact your TI. Repeat, any trainee interested in donating funds to the Anti-Mime campaign in Bosnia, please contact your TI. Please, help stop this silent killer.”

By Saturday, the whole unit had adjusted to the new atmosphere. Everyone was on pins and needles until the prank, and then everyone relaxed and enjoyed the brief respite from the all too serious task of training. 

Overall unit morale had improved and for this reason alone, Col. Harding had backed off of his ‘zero tolerance’ stance. However, he was still ready to jump on any training Flight that failed to demonstrate the proper level of discipline in or out of the squadron area.

Saturday’s prank didn’t manifest until lunch. This time, the salt shakers were sabotaged using baking soda and lemon juice separated by tissue paper. When the victim tried to get some salt, the tissue dissolved and triggered a chemical reaction that popped the lid off the salt shaker and sprayed foam everywhere. Four of the booby-trapped shakers had gone off before the remaining shakers were carefully removed from the dining facility. 

TSgt Vega had just finished turning over the Flight to SrA Reglin and was just leaving the squadron area for some well deserved rest at home, when the day’s bogus announcement came over the PA. 

“Attention in the squadron. All trainees are to make the following change in their ATO, page 42. Add the following as an additional detection technique in the ATSO section. Final determination for dissipation of detected chemical agent will now be ‘rip the MCU-2 mask off the closest 2Lt.’ Repeat, ‘rip the MCU-2 mask off the closest 2Lt.’ If 2Lt continues to glare steadily at you, the chemical agent has dissipated. All questions should be directed to the Readiness Office.”

Chuckling, he climbed into his car and headed for home. 

CONTINUED IN ‘SECOND TO NONE – SECOND WEEK’


	3. Second To None - Second WOT

“Do something. If it works, do more of it. If it doesn't, do something else.” Franklin D. Roosevelt (1882-1945) Thirty-second President of the USA.

Second WOT Agenda: Rendering Courtesies, Human Relations, Self Aid and Buddy Care, Law of Armed Conflict, Code of Conduct, Cultural Sensitivity, Weapons Cleaning, Warrior Role, Job Classification Interviews

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

Reveille sounded on the second week of training. Jon pulled himself out of bed slower than usual. Setting up today’s prank had taken longer than he liked and as a consequence, he had only gotten about three hours of sleep.

Good thing it was Sunday. No PC on Sundays. Man, how sad was it that he was so very grateful for the tiniest respite. You’re losing your touch, O’Neill. This is a cake walk compared to some of the missions you’ve been on. You’ve worked harder on less sleep. Okay, not you, Jack. Why is that so hard to remember here?

Today, only SrA Reglin was in residence. And while he didn’t fail to reinforce the unit’s extremely high standard, Sunday’s were technically a day of rest. So, after the dorm was cleaned to his exacting standards, for the first time in a week, the TI let the trainees go to the break patio and call home. However, this time the trainees could do more than just quickly recite their new mailing address. 

Jon had gone out with the others to the patio to enjoy the summer Texas heat. He sat out of the way and stared through the decorative cinder block wall, not even bothering to get in the line to use the phone. He wasn’t really looking at anything in particular. Just setting his mind free. This past week, he had kept his mental shields tightly up. The whole Flight was under an acute amount of stress, including Jon. He didn’t want to accidentally leak his thoughts onto the other kids in the Flight, nor did he want to pick up their tension as his own. 

As a result his mental wall was so thick, he could no longer sense the others nearby. And while the relief was nice, Jon felt alone in his head. Not just alone. Lonely. How sad is that? I miss the strange voices in my head. Man, do I have to get a grip.

But it was Sunday. The rest of the Flight, heck the squadron, was starting to relax. However, instead of relaxing himself, Jon was tense. He felt closed in. Trapped. He knew, cognitively, that none of the doors were locked and the patio didn’t even have a gate. He really could walk away at any time. Heck, he could go to the Chaplin at any time and quit, just like any other trainee. He wasn’t really trapped or locked up. But, even though he was here by choice, he felt like he was back in prison. He really didn’t like feeling captive.

Maybe it was the lack of privacy, or the lack of sleep, or the lack of respect from the TI’s. But he could feel their conditioning kicking in and his natural instinct was to fight it. Jack’s memories of Officer Candidate School were the similar. In that sense, BMT and OCS were exactly the same. Take a bunch of individuals and strip them down to emotionally blank slates, then rebuild them the way you want them. 

And Jon could feel them striping away his individuality, institutionalizing him. He had just failed to realize that they were striping away the part of him that was Jon, and not Jack. Jon was a thin veneer over Jack’s memories and a two year old cloned body. He was both blessed and cursed with Jack’s memories. He had worked hard to separate himself from those memories. To build Jon on top of those memories. Overwriting Jack’s memories with new ones of Jon. High school had been the start. 

But now the part of him that was Jon was being striped away and soon only the shell would be left. Already he felt hallow, empty, distant. He was having a hard time remembering that he was in BMT and not in a prisoner. That he was Jon, and not Jack.

He could remember so many different prisons, so like BMT. Iraq wasn’t the first or the last, and in some ways wasn’t even the worst, but it was the longest. Jack’s memories of that prison were still etched bright and clear in his mind. His nightmares ensured that. And he remembered that same feeling of resignation that BMT was instilling in him now. Resignation that he had to endure whatever was thrown at him. Determination to see it through to the end. Except that the Iraqi walls were locked and he couldn’t opt out. 

For Jon, the mental walls in BMT were as solid as the physical walls in Iraq. But because he could opt out, he couldn’t. Hey, no one ever said that he had to make sense. But Jack had survived Iraq. Jack survived OCS. And while Jon remembered what it felt like, he didn’t feel that HE had earned the right to those feelings, or that sense of accomplishment. Jon had felt the need to go to BMT, not because he wanted to kill time, as he had presented to SG-1, but because he felt the need to prove to himself that he could be just as strong as Jack. Not a cheap copy, but a separate individual, just as good as the original.

A clone with feelings of inadequacy. Imagine that! 

“Attention in the squadron. Training Instructors are reminded that they are not authorized to purchase anyone’s soul on government time. Repeat, Training Instructors are reminded that they are not authorized to purchase anyone’s soul on government time. All soul transactions must be conducted in off-duty hours. Contact the Chaplin’s Office for details.”

Jon smiled. That was something that Jack had never accomplished. He had been able to pull a few pranks in his misguided youth. But nothing as elaborate and lengthy as the pranks that Jon was pulling now. Of course, technology was better today. 

Not that technology had helped him smuggle the chicken in last night. He wondered how the TI’s handled the rooster in their locker-room. He could just imagine the mess the thing had made. Of course, that damn bird wouldn’t shut up. Who knew that chickens liked to cluck in their damn sleep? Jon had almost smothered the stupid thing just to get it past the CQ. 

“O’Neill, you all right?” Jon looked up to see one of his element leaders, Skoke, looking at him with concern.

“I’m fine,” Jon was quick with a practiced reply.

“Then what’s with the face?” Skoke sat next to Jon and started to watch the outside world with him.

“Face?”

“Yeah, like someone just killed your cat. You get bad news from home?”

“Nah, I didn’t make a call. Just pondering life, the universe, and everything,” Jon quipped.

“Pretty hefty stuff for a Sunday afternoon.”

Jon snorted, “Yeah, but I got nothing better to do than solve the riddles of the universe. What about you? Sick of the ATO already?”

Skoke shrugged, “Yeah, but what else is there to read?”

“Too true.”

Skoke turned to Jon and asked quietly, “Is it really like this? The Air Force I mean? I don’t think I can hack this for four years, if this is all there is to it.”

Jon gave him a small frown, “Why are you asking me?”

“Because you know things. You don’t ever read the ATO, but seem to be able to answer all the questions the TI’s have thrown at you. You have an uncle in already. I was hoping that maybe, you know, he told you what it was really like. We all know that the recruiters feed us a line of bullshit to get us in. But… I mean, I think I can make it for a few weeks, but four years of this would drive me nuts.”

“Ah… well, the best answer is yes and no. Yes, it is at times exactly like this… sometimes worse… But also no, most of the time its not. It’s something completely different than civilian life. Just not like this either. I remember….” Jon stopped himself. “My uncle would talk about deployments where the stress… operational stress… was as bad as BMT. That’s why BMT is so tough. It’s teaching you about this kind of stress and how to deal with it. Push past it and still do the job, regardless, the mission comes first. But, here instead of an enemy shelling the dorm area, we have TI’s yelling at us constantly... Oddly enough, the effect is the same… Anyway, the TI’s also use BMT as a way to screen out those people who just aren’t cut out for this type of life.” Jon considered BMT, its stresses, and Jack’s memories. “It shows you up front how bad it can get. So you can decide if it is worth it. Better to have a trainee quit in BMT rather than later, after they have been trained. Or worse, to have them crack under the strain when on a mission...”

Was it worth it? He wasn’t Jack. He didn’t HAVE to go back. To risk everything for this world over and over again. He didn’t ever have to risk imprisonment and torture ever again. Jack had risked everything and lost so much because of his choices. Small pieces of his soul. Did Jon want to follow that same path, knowing exactly what he would lose? All he had to do was quit. It wasn’t too late to enroll in some college and pursue a different career path, to take this second chance to live a ‘normal’ life. To tell the Air Force to go to hell.

“I’ve never thought of it that way before. I guess, when put that way… well, I do think it’s worth it,” Skoke’s quiet statement brought Jon out of his depressing thoughts. “I mean, I’ll be protecting my little sister’s freedom. I know, its cliché, but in my heart I know it’s true. And ensuring that she continues to play, oblivious to the threats to her freedom, well, THAT makes it worth it. For me, anyway.”

“Yes, it does,” Jon replied before lapsing into a comfortable silence. He pulled out one of Jack’s memories, when Jack had taken SG-1 to the park to meet with Cassie and Dr. Frasier. 

Watching the children playing at the park, Teal’c had told Jack how fortunate the Tau’ri were to be able to allow their children to grow and play without the fear of death looming over them constantly. He explained how Jaffa children learn early on to fear the visit of their false god and how they started training to fight as soon as they could hold a staff weapon. Until that day, Jack had taken that freedom for granted. The right to be oblivious. The freedom that allows a child to grow up with only a child’s concerns.

“Yes, it does,” Jon repeated, quietly. Maybe he could continue to defend those who weren’t even aware that they needed defending; to ensure that his planet could continue to develop, oblivious to the threats in the galaxy and the greater universe. Yeah, that would definitely be worth it.

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

“Monday, Monday… so good to me… Monday mornin', it was all I hoped it would be…” The sound of The Mamas and the Papas rolled through the dorm waking the Flight. Followed quickly by the TI’s. 

“COME ON LADIES. THIS SHOULD BE OLD HAT BY NOW. MOVE IT. TIME FOR PC.”

Jon jogged through the bays one last time and lined up. Today was strength training. They would skip the running today in favor of the ever popular push-ups and sit-ups. The Flight marched to the parade ground and paired off. 

After PC, the Flight changed and formed up for breakfast. This was the first week they were allowed to wear boots. Jon was glad to get that small bit of comfort back. The sneakers never did feel right when in uniform. 

As he approached the serving line, the trainee in front of him pointed to the first empty tray on the serving line, grinning, “Skip that one, it’s glued down.”

Jon grinned back, “Thanks.” He passed the information on to the next trainee. It was the little things that made him happy. Boots on his feet and a prank gone well. Eating quickly, Jon was in a relatively good mood when the TI marched them out for drill practice. 

This week had the Flight drilling every morning with classes in the afternoon. Jon assumed that was because the Texas weather was rapidly heating up past red flag and into black flag conditions. This basically meant that all their outdoor activities were curtailed in the heat of the day to prevent heat stress injuries. 

Also looking at the schedule, Jon noticed that this week was going to be extra boring for him. All the classes were right out of the ATO. Customs and Courtesies, Dress and Appearance, Human Relations, and Law of Armed Conflict were all old friends to him. Weapons cleaning, come on, really, he could clean the M-16 in his sleep, in the dark. Hell, he could remember Jack doing just that. And for all he ‘technically’ had never held the weapon before last week, it felt like an old friend in his hands. 

Self Aid and Buddy Care would be a good refresher, but he doubted that the class would go beyond basic first aid in the field. Now at Cheyenne Mountain, Dr Frasier had updated the basic course to a more detailed class with extensive information on burns and long term wound care. Unfortunately, they had all used that information all too often. 

Don’t go there Jon. It wasn’t you, it was Jack. You have to remember that. Jon, not Jack.

It was the last few classes that had Jon worried. The Code of Conduct and Cultural Sensitivity were back to back with the LOAC briefing. With the present political situation in the world, the only culture that would be covered in any detail would be the Arabic Muslims, maybe the Koreans, but most likely, just the Muslims. Add that to the Code and Jon wasn’t sure he could survive that class with his control intact. At least we won’t be covering how to play nice with your ex-torturer. But if Bocce shows up in any of these briefings, all bets were off.

I’ve got a few days to get my shit together. I can do this. Jon, not Jack, remember. It didn’t happen to me. I can do this.

That evening after dinner, TSgt Vega pulled Jon aside, “Dorm Chief.”

“Sir, Trainee O’Neill reports as ordered.”

“Do you think the Flight is ready for an inspection?”

Now, why in the hell would he ask me? He is the one to thrash the lockers on almost a daily basis. Crap! This is another damn test. Another game of double jeopardy. I’m getting so sick of these games. 

“No, Sir. I don’t think that the Flight would pass inspection at this time, Sir. However, I do think that an inspection would assist them in learning exactly where their deficiencies are, Sir. It would also allow the Flight to see exactly how an inspection is performed, Sir. So, I believe that the Flight would gain some positive benefit from an inspection at this time, Sir.”

“Very well, Dorm Chief. Have the Flight ready for inspection in one hour. Dismissed,” TSgt Vega remarked, before turning to leave the dorm with SrA Reglin. 

Great! Jon let out an audible sigh. “FLIGHT, REPORT TO THE DAYROOM, STAT.” The trainees left off their assigned tasks to hurry to the dayroom. “We have exactly one hour to make this dorm inspection ready. Finish your assigned cleaning task then report to your element leader or myself for additional assignment. Latrine Queen, leave the first stall for last. Anyone needing to use the latrine, go now. In ten minutes, the latrine will be off limits until the inspection is over. Double check everything. Dust every surface. Set your lockers in order after you complete the common areas. Buddy checks on your bunk-mate. Questions?” He paused, waiting for a question. “Alright, let’s go!”

An hour later, Jon had the trainees stand by their lockers in preparation of the inspection. The Flight was called to attention as the TI’s arrived.

“Dorm Chief.”

Jon walked up to the blue rope TI heading the inspection team, one of the few female TI’s in the unit, MSgt Crawley. “Ma’am, Trainee O’Neill reports as ordered.”

“Is your Flight ready for inspection, Dorm Chief?”

Not by a long shot. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“Good. Report back to your position.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Jon executed an about-face and walked back to his bunk. 

For whatever reason, the TI’s had left Jon for last. They had worked their way around both bays and the common area. They were inspecting his bunk mate, Trainee Skoke, when the PA activated, “Attention in the squadron. Until further notice, sock puppets are not authorized to take control of any Entry Control point. Repeat, sock puppets are not authorized to take control of any Entry Control point. Sock puppets must first complete the required Entry Controller training. Contact CQ for details.”

Jon had managed to stifle his smile and maintain his position at attention. He heard the blue rope sigh. “When are they going to catch that guy?... Shirt unbuttoned. It’s getting a bit ridiculous… Socks folded backwards. The commander has changed the PA phone number three times so far… Hangers not evenly spaced.” 

“That’s all, Trainee.” TSgt Vega told Jon’s bunk mate. “I don’t know. I was steamed at first… Trainee, open your locker and step back… But now… It’s not hurting anyone.”

“Yet,” the blue rope replied. “T-shirts not flush… I’m just surprised that no one has any idea who it is… Everyone in the unit has been accounted for during at least one prank. You don’t think that one of the other units is behind it, do you?”

TSgt Vega, chuckled, “Not likely… ATO not square and flush… I would think that someone would notice a stranger in the squadron. Remember quite a few pranks were pulled during daylight hours… That’s all, Trainee.” TSgt Vega and the blue rope walked away to inspect the common areas. 

Jon smirked, they didn’t even suspect a trainee. Sweet! He heard the dorm door open and close. “FLIGHT, REPORT TO THE DAYROOM.” 

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

Tuesday was essentially a repeat of Monday with only minor differences. PC was cardiovascular training, i.e. running, rather than strength training. And the afternoon classes were on Human Relations and the proper way to render Military Courtesies. 

By mid-morning half the Flight was peeing blue or green. The trainees dutifully reported the prank. Apparently, the morning coffee at the Dining Hall had been spiked this time. The ones peeing green were chastised for not drinking enough water. 

That evening the TI allowed those trainees who had received less than five marks on their inspection to go back out to the break patio as a reward. And Jon was, once again, staring out across the parade ground through the decorative brick, trying to find his center. He was a bit melancholy when he heard the PA announcement. 

“Attention in the squadron. Trainees entering Warrior Week may not line their helmets with tin foil. Repeat, trainees entering Warrior Week may not line their helmets with tin foil. The tin foil interferes with the mind control lasers used by the Training Instructors. Trainees caught with tin foil will be recycled to First WOT for re-education.” Around him, Jon could hear the other trainees snicker.

“I knew it. Mind control lasers,” one laughed out loud. 

“Oh, come on, it’s not so bad,” another trainee remarked. They were from one of the older Flights. “What week are you?”

“Second,” replied someone from Jon’s Flight.

“And you’re on patio break already? Damn. Your TI is soft,” a different trainee sneered.

Jon laughed out loud at the trainee, startling the group.

“What the hell are you laughing at?”

Jon stood up to face the trainee. They were about equal height. The other guy outweighed him by a few pounds and was trying to loom over him. That made him smile. He was a bully. And I love bully-baiting. Granted this guy was no System Lord. But, hey, you take what you can get. 

Jon gave him a maniacal grin, “Someone too stupid to know the difference between lax training and superior leadership.” Jon felt his Flight-mates close ranks behind him as he baited the bully. “Between brute force…” Jon pointed to the bully, “… and superior quality…” Jon motioned to the rest of his Flight-mates. “Obviously, your TI has had to work twice as hard to beat the rules into your thick skull… Of course, that would take longer than simply instructing a quality trainee.” Jon gave him a raised eyebrow for good measure. 

The bully turned a deep red. Jon stood ready and loose, waiting. When the bully finally lost control and took a swing, Jon simply stepped aside. The bully stumbled nearly falling. “Careful, wouldn’t want you to fall down and get hurt,” he called after the bully, taunting him more. 

The bully recovered and turned to try and swing again. Jon saw a flash of blue in the corner of his eye just as the bully swung again. This time as he side-stepped, he grabbed the bully’s fist. With a quick twist and turn, he had the bully on his knees an arm locked straight out behind him. “I said, be careful, you could hurt someone falling down like that. Now, are you done? Got your balance back?”

The bully’s only response was a whimper and a nod. He had obviously given up the fight. 

“Good.” He released the other trainee and stepped back. Once the bully seemed to catch his breath, he reached out a hand, ready for trouble, just in case. “Here, let me give you a hand up.” Jon helped the bully up and stared directly into his eyes. He dropped his mental shields for the first time in weeks and pushed into the bully’s mind. –Drop it. Leave the young trainess alone and go back to your dorm.- 

The bully seemed to nod in agreement. “Thanks. I’ll… I’ll be heading back to my dorm now,” then he abruptly turned and left pushing past a Blue Rope TI. 

“WHAT’S GOING ON OUT HERE?”

Jon glanced around at the terrified faces of the other trainees. Okay, this is getting out of control. That’s what you get for having a little fun, O’Neill. Did you forget? You’re not allowed to have fun in BMT. It’s against the cosmic order or some such. Jon walked up to the blue rope, “Sir, Trainee O’Neill reports as ordered. The trainee fell down and needed a hand up, Sir. He returned to his dorm to hydrate, Sir.” The other trainees immediately seized the explanation like a life preserver and started nodding in agreement.

The Blue Rope’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, “Really.” He considered the trainees one at a time, but couldn’t detect a break in ranks. “Very well. Return to your dorms. We wouldn’t want anyone to get dehydrated now, would we?”

“NO, SIR!” the group chorused. The group filed past the Blue Rope quickly, trying to make their escape. 

“O’Neill, one minute please,” the Blue Rope called just before Jon could take more than a single step.

“Yes, Sir.” 

The Blue Rope waited until the last of the trainees had disappeared into the building before speaking, “Trainee, off the record, I can tell a fight when I see one. Even if it was decidedly one way.” The Blue Rope TI paused, as if considering his next statement. “O’Neill, why are you here?”

Jon was immediately confused. Cautiously, he replied, “I was granted a patio break by TSgt Vega for receiving less than five marks on my inspection last night, Sir.”

“Not, here on the patio. Here in Basic,” the Blue Rope clarified. 

“I’m not sure I understand, Sir.”

The TI looked him over carefully, “I’ve been watching you and you don’t fit. Your ASVAB scores are too high for a high school student. Your SAT scores would guarantee a college scholarship just about anywhere. Your connections could get you into the ROTC program of your choice. Hell, they could easily get you into the Academy. Someone has gone to a lot of trouble to get you a security clearance and to coach you extensively. Yet… here you are, just another trainee at BMT. You. Do. Not. Fit... So, I ask again, off-the-record, why are you here?”

Jon was surprised that the TI had done that much research on him. What little was available. He didn’t think that he had been that transparent. He closed his eyes to hide the range of emotions that swam past. He couldn’t think of a single answer that would be accepted. He couldn’t even think of an effective lie. And the truth sounded false. 

Because Jack didn’t go to BMT. Because I need to prove myself, to myself. Because I need to know that I am a separate person and not a cheap clone. To do something, anything, rather than stay put for another four years. To get back to the action. To be true to my nature. To protect the world. Because I want to be here. 

Yes, I want to be here. Not at the academy, not at some other college, not as a civilian. Because I NEED to be here. 

Finally, he opened his eyes and let the knowledge seep into them. “Because, I want to be here, Sir.”

“Really? I’ve been watching you since your first day. You are bored out of your mind. You don’t need this training. With your contacts, you could probably waiver it. So, why do you want to be here? Make me understand.”

Jon abruptly, turned away from the TI. “I don’t know if I understand myself, Sir,” he said. “I just need to do this… Sir.”

“Does this have something to do with your uncle?” 

Jon visibly flinched. Yes, it had everything to do with Jack… and absolutely nothing to do with him. 

The TI continued, “Yeah, I guess that IS the most obvious answer. He’s a highly decorated Major General on the fast track, special advisor to the President, with an obviously sanitized biography. He must be a hard act to follow. Especially, since you were named after him,” the TI continued to prod.

Jon gave a short laugh and turned back to the Blue Rope. And you don’t know the half of it. I’m not just named after him. I am him… and I’m not. “You could say that, Sir.”

“Well, I’m going to give you some advice, take it or leave it. You can’t change who you are and you can only hide from who you are for so long. Don’t make your choices to spite your uncle. Make them for yourself. You have a natural talent for leadership. You belong where that talent can be developed. The Air Force has plenty of aircraft mechanics. But we are short on good leaders. If that takes you on the same path as your uncle, then so be it. But don’t avoid that path to prove something that has never been in doubt.” The Blue Rope held Jon’s eyes for a few more moments, before nodding. “There, I’ve said my piece, take it or leave it. Now, get out of here before your TI comes looking.”

“Yes, Sir,” Jon gave him a final considering nod before returning to his dorm.

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

Wednesday copied Tuesday. Jon felt the days starting to run together. His nightly forays were even beginning to blend together. Last night, he had setup another glitter trap, this time it was an obvious trip wire established in CQ. But the trap was activated when the wire was cut, not pulled. He wasn’t sure if the trap had been tripped or deactivated, since squadron gossip hadn’t illuminated today’s prank.

The Flight spent the morning in drill practice and the afternoon in Self Aid and Buddy Care class. The Self Aid and Buddy Care class was as basic as a first aid class could get. Jon was disappointed that the class couldn’t distract him from his conversation with the Blue Rope TI last night. 

That conversation had been preying on his mind all night and day. Jon? or a copy of Jack? Would he make the same choices? Should he? He had been searching his memories… Jack’s memories, for clues to answers and he decided that he couldn’t even form a proper question. He just hoped that the TI’s didn’t notice his distraction. He didn’t feel up to addressing their particular need to give him the ‘special treatment’ today. Maybe later, when he could put a bit more effort into his answers. 

That evening he sought solitude in the dayroom. His flight-mates could tell that something was bothering him. He was usually all over the place, sharing a smile of encouragement and helping in the various tasks. Today, he had been quiet and still. They didn’t quite know what to make of it. They all thought that he had been chewed out for the fight last night and that was causing his mood. Eventually, they selected his bunk-mate, Skoke, to find out what was going on. 

Trainee Skoke was considering how best to approach his bunk-mate when the PA announced, “Attention in the squadron. Until further notice, no military equipment may be traded for ‘magic beans.’ Repeat, no military equipment may be traded for ‘magic beans.’ Equipment is the sole property of the USAF and any magic beans will be purchased exclusively through logistics. Contact the Contracting Office for details.” He smiled, moved over to Jon, and sat down next to him.

He gave Jon a quiet smile, “Magic beans, huh?”

Jon turned away from the window and acknowledged his bunk-mate with a curt nod, not completely pulling away from his thoughts.

“Okay, I get it. You don’t want company. But, did you know that you’re kind of freaking out Thomas?”

Jon turned back to Skoke, “What?”

“Thomas, you know, short guy in charge of element three? Yeah, well, this new silent treatment is kind of freaking him out. All of us, to tell the truth. So, I got tapped to see if you could use some help working it all out.”

Jon’s eyes wandered back to the window, “You drew the short straw, huh?” his voice full of bitterness at the memory that phrase evoked. 

Skoke looked at him critically. Jon still seemed lost in his thoughts. “No, actually. I volunteered… What is up with you? What the hell did that TI threaten you with?”

“Threaten? What?” Jon asked confused, finally pulling himself fully back from his dark thoughts and old memories. “No one threatened me. What are you talking about?”

“The Blue Rope. He didn’t threaten you with recycling or getting kicked out for fighting?”

“Hell, no.”

“Then why are you walking around in a dark haze?”

“I…” Jon stopped. “We talked about… stuff. It’s just made me think, that’s all.”

“Well, stop it.” Then he grinned at Jon, “You got enough crap on your plate for now. Save the thinking for Tech School, deal?”

“Deal,” Jon replied, visibly pulling himself out of his funk. “So, what’s the gossip?” he asked trying to make an active effort to leave his self doubt alone for now.

“Well, you know Tinney, right? See, he heard from a trainee in Fourth WOT about…”

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

Thursday started out just like Wednesday. The days are definitely starting to run together. Last night, he had decided to go easy on the pranks and instead just setup the computer to call in about twenty times during the day playing “Danny Boy” on a five minute loop, starting after breakfast. He could hear the old Irish tune playing while his Flight was drilling on the parade grounds. The sad notes drifting on the breeze were oddly comforting. 

Lunch was a more leisurely affair than usual. The afternoon promised to be another round of classes. Jon didn’t even pay attention to which ones would be taught this afternoon. He was still trying to pull himself out of his funk. His bunk-mate had been right. Now wasn’t the time for thinking. It was the time for doing.

Jon was busy cleaning the catsup off his plate with his fries when the PA made his next prank announcement, “Attention in the squadron. Trainees may no longer keep rats as pets in the dormitories. Repeat, Trainees may no longer keep rats as pets in the dormitories. Rats my carry plague. Exceptions may be made for talking rats with ninja training. Contact the Public Health Office for details.”

Jon was close enough to the Snake Pit to overhear, “At least it’s not that damn song again. I don’t know how sane I would be after another round of ‘Oh, Danny Boy.’”

“Hey, it could be ‘Tom Dooley.’”

“Ah. Don’t even think that. I’ll take ‘Danny Boy’ over ‘Tom Dooley’ any day.”

Finished, Jon cleaned up his plates and deposited them with the dishwashers on KP. He went outside to wait for his Flight to form up. He joined some of his Flight already outside waiting. 

“So, what’s on the agenda for class today?” he asked.

“Yeah, like you need to know,” ribbed one of his Flight-mates.

“You never know, it might be new information to me. Why? You don’t know either?” Jon asked.

“Nope. Like you, I will go where told and listen to whatever. I’z been brainwashed. It’s the mind control lasers, I tell ya… Oh, here comes Reglin.”

“O’Neill.”

“Sir, Trainee O’Neill reports as ordered.”

SrA Reglin glanced at his watch. “Have the Flight form up in three minutes and proceed to classroom 106.”

“Yes, Sir.”

As SrA Reglin walked off, Jon turned back to his Flight-mates. “I guess we’ll find out in a few. I’ll go scan the dining facility to see if everyone is out yet.”

A few minutes later they filed into the assigned classroom. Jon identified the JAG as the same one who taught the UCMJ class. He frowned momentarily as he tried to recall which classes the JAG would teach. He felt that it was important. That he had wanted to remember for a reason.

“Welcome, Trainees, at ease. This class will be about the Law of Armed Conflict or LOAC. Can anyone tell me what LOAC is all about?” The JAG instructed. 

Oh crap! I forgot about the Code of Conduct briefing, right after the LOAC briefing. Okay, no big deal. You have an hour to get your head on strait. Deep breath. That’s it. 

The JAG continued to discuss the details of international law and its application to war and other armed conflicts for the next hour. Jon sat quietly in the back, trying to stop the images that flashed across his vision with each part of the lecture. 

“… So, the principles governing armed conflict are; military necessity, distinction, and proportionality…”

Jon flashed back to a time when it had been deemed a ‘military necessity’ to eliminate a political leader from the shadows. And another time when a drug lord was eliminated the same way. 

“… The Geneva Conventions of 1949 distinguished between lawful combatants, noncombatants, and unlawful combatants…”

Again, Jon flashed to times when certain civilians had been classified as ‘lawful combatants’ in order to maintain the secrecy of the mission. And noncombatants had picked up arms and killed his teammates. 

Jon longed to point out that LOAC usually only applied to the US and other superpowers. That Vietnam, North Korea, and Iraq had never cared to follow international law, let alone during war. Or that China only followed international law when it was to their advantage. 

But Jon succeeded in keeping quiet. He was even able to swallow his laugh when the JAG stated that the Rules of Engagement were always strictly adhered to and that the Geneva Conventions Treaties protected Medical and Religious personnel from POW status. 

Yeah, keep believing that, Sir. I hope it helps you sleep at night. I know of one too many medics that refuse to wear the Red Cross because it makes them a target. They joke about the invisible bubble the Geneva Conventions has thrown around them that can deflect bullets and mortar rounds, like magic. And wish for world peace while you’re at it.

“Alright, lets take a five minute break before the next class,” the JAG wrapped up the class and started to setup for the next class. 

Jon went outside for some air. He was starting to feel closed in. Taking several deep breaths, he closed his eyes and tried to think happy thoughts. Go to your happy place. Sunshine, palm trees, nice beach, little bikinis. See, no problem. Big wide open spaces. No walls. No bars… Don’t go there. Open spaces. Open spaces. 

“Time to go back in, Trainee.”

Already? Deep breath. “Yes, Sir.” Jon took his place again and immediately started to fidget. I’m not ready for this. NO! Jon, not Jack. It didn’t happen to you. STOP THINKING! Focus on… on… shit! 99 bottles of beer. That’s it! Anything to distract me from this class… 99 bottles of beer on the wall, 99 bottles of beer, take one down and pass it around, 98 bottles of beer on the wall… 

\---- WARNING ---- CODE OF CONDUCT BRIEFING ----WARNING ----

The JAG’s voice broke into his internal singing, “’Article I: I am an American, fighting in the forces which guard my country and our way of life. I am prepared to give my life in their defense.‘ Can anyone explain what this means to you?” the JAG asked the class. 

Oh come on! You have to ask? It means I signed up knowing that I might have to DIE to protect the good ole’ US of A. Death before dishonor and all those pat little clichés. You know, it doesn’t say anything about how many times you have to die to adequately satisfy Article I. Once? Ten times? Twenty? When is it acceptable to crack just to stay dead. Wait! That’s the catch. Obviously, this guy has never had to sit in a cell and contemplate how much easier life would be if you were dead. Ack! Stop thinking about it! Sunshine, palm trees, sand… heat… NO! A cool dark forest, a pond, and fishing pole. That’s it! New happy place. 

The JAG’s voice broke into Jon’s attempt to distract himself, “’Article II: I will never surrender of my own free will. If in command, I will never surrender the members of my command while they still have the means to resist.’ How would you define that last part, ‘while they still have the means to resist’?”

Again, this one is too easy. Fight or evade until you can’t fight anymore. Death is not an option the US likes to take. So if the choice is capture or death, the government prefers capture, except if you are on a covert mission that is not sanctioned by ‘official’ policy. Then they prefer death. It’s easier to leave you behind if you’re dead. It’s easier to forget about the ‘Americani spy’ then to acknowledge that you were trying to assassinate a political leader against ‘official’ public policy. And that you forgot to get all the team out, namely yourself.

Jon started taking deep breaths. He couldn’t seem to get enough air. He was flashing through every capture, Columbia, Iraq, Ra, Apophis, Sokar, Ba’al, and the hundreds of other times he was forced to surrender to overwhelming odds. … no, Jack. It was Jack, not Jon. It didn’t happen to you. It was Jack. You’re Jon, not Jack.

The JAG continued to drone on, oblivious to Jon’s distress, “’Article III: If I am captured I will continue to resist by all means available. I will make every effort to escape and to aid others to escape. I will accept neither parole nor special favors from the enemy.’ Can anyone give an example of ‘special favors’?”

HA! Yeah, I could give you a long list of special favors. Like I’ll stop beating the crap out of you if you tell me know many Americans were in your team. Or I’ll turn off the electricity if you give me a name. I’ll let you out of the box if you simply sign this document. I’ll give you food, water, a blanket, whatever… if you just tell me why you are here in this country. How about, I’ll stop torturing this poor kid if you will only tell me what you know about the attack on the palace. Or, my personal favorite, I’ll let you die permanently if you just tell me what the Tok’ra want with the girl. Yup, I could give you a long list of special favors the enemy likes to bring out during a good torture session. 

Jon clenched his hands in fists trying to maintain control. He really needed to hit something. He needed to move, to be anywhere, but here, right now. 

The JAG recited the next Article, “’Article IV: If I am a prisoner of war, I will keep faith with my fellow prisoners. I will give no information or take part in any action which might be harmful to my comrades. If I am senior, I will take command. If not, I will obey the lawful orders of those appointed over me and will back them up in every way.’ Could you ever be senior ranking in this kind of situation?” the JAG asked the class.

Jon was no longer with the class. He was remembering faces. Other prisoners trapped in the same hell. The young SAS troops from Bravo Two Zero as they were marched through the cell block, bloody and exhausted. A leering guard as he was dragged from his cell for another round of ‘questioning.’ Vishnor’s sneering face behind Daniel as his life was being choked from him. Ba’al’s smirking face as he quietly and politely demanded answers. 

The PA warning sounded “Oh, Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling…” Jon’s mind latched on to the song as his salvation from the dark memories. He slowly closed his eyes and let the music wash over him, seeking peace in the old lament. As if the song were written for the sole purpose of mourning these painful memories. Bringing them to a peaceful rest once more. Slowly, Jon clawed back to the surface and pulled his control back into place, thin as it was. As the last notes faded, he slowly opened his eyes to see the JAG looking directly at him. Shit!

“Trainee, so pleased you could come back to us. Please read Article V for the group.” 

Great! Just push the drowning man under da water, why don’t ya. Fine! Ya wanna quote? I can give ya a quote. But I’ll be doing it on my terms, laddie. “Yes, Sir.” But rather than reading the Article, Jon stood and walked slowly to the front of the class, his steps tightly controlled. The JAG stepped aside, confused. 

Jon recited in a deadly quiet voice, “Article V: When questioned, should I become a prisoner of war, I am required to give name, rank, service number, and date of birth. I will evade answering further questions to the utmost of my ability. I will make no oral or written statements disloyal to my country and its allies or harmful to their cause.” Jon’s eyes narrowed as he took in his Flight-mates. He wasn’t seeing them, but all the men lost, killed, or captured that had been under his command. His stance changed and with it his presence looming over the classroom. “And when you feel that you can no longer evade answering their questions, and you WILL feel like giving in, keep in mind that answering will not make the ‘questioning’ stop. It will merely inform your captors of your breaking point. If you answer one question, they will ask more, and now they know one of your weaknesses. When that day comes and you want desperately to break, remember Article I and pray to whatever God you follow for salvation or peace.”

Jon abruptly stalked to the back of the classroom and went to parade rest seeking solace in the familiar stance. He took even, slow breaths to maintain his fragile control. The class was stunned by his short speech. Even the JAG was shocked into silence. 

Eventually, the JAG shook off his surprise and continued the class. “Uh, yeah, thank you. The… um… last one is ‘Article VI: I will never forget that I am an American, fighting for freedom, responsible for my actions, and dedicated to the principles which made my country free. I will trust in my God and in the United States of America.’ Any questions on this last one? No? Okay, let’s take a ten minute break before the last section, while we wait for the Chaplain.”

Jon’s Flight-mates stood and stretched. Some wandered past him to go outside. Through it all, Jon stood shock still at parade rest. He still wasn’t seeing them. He was trying desperately to pull himself back from the memories. Jack’s memories.

Not me. Not me. Not me. It wasn’t me. They weren’t my men. They were Jack’s. They aren’t my memories. They’re Jack’s. Come on, O’Neill. Get your shit together. 

Just as he was losing his battle for control, one of his Flight-mates started humming ‘Danny Boy.’ Once again, Jon grabbed onto the lyrics. He started humming the tune to himself. He used it to push back the memories. Pushed them back into a box in the back of his mind and locked it with the quiet tune of ‘Danny Boy.’ 

\---- END ---- CODE OF CONDUCT BRIEFING ---- END ----

Finally in control again, Jon let out a deep sigh and looked around the room. TSgt Vega was in deep conversation with the JAG. The Chaplin had arrived and was setting up for the next lecture. His Flight-mates were moving about the room in small groups. A few were sending him quick glances. 

Good job, O’Neill. Now they all think you’re just a bit whacked out of your mind. Of course, they could be right. Jon turned and went outside. He walked to the edge the concrete pad surrounding the building. He let the bright open space encompass his entire vision blocking any further dark thoughts. 

“So, what was that all about?” a voice startled him out of his peace.

Jon turned to see the JAG. Now what? “Sir, Trainee O’Neill reports as ordered. What was what about, Sir?”

“The Code of Conduct briefing. You had a little outburst, remember?”

Jon glanced back at the classroom door. TSgt Vega was collecting the other trainees. Holy cow! Saved by the bell. “Good class, Sir. If you’ll excuse me, I need to return to my Flight now, Sir.” Jon didn’t wait for a dismissal. He simple snapped to attention and marched back to class, using one of the many evasion techniques that Jack had bequeathed him along with all those memories. 

“You can’t avoid this forever, Trainee,” the JAG dogged his steps. 

Jon stopped and turned to face the JAG once more, “With all due respect, Sir, I've always found that sticking your fingers in your ears and humming loudly solves a whole slew of problems… Sir.” Now, bugger off! Jon turned and stalked off again, this time humming ‘Danny Boy.’ He was relieved when the JAG stayed put. He took his seat just in time. 

“Good afternoon, I’m Chaplin Moore and today we will be discussing Cultural Sensitivity.”

Oh, fer crying out loud! Are you trying to kill me? 

And with that, Jon quietly hummed ‘Danny Boy’ the entire rest of the class. Totally tuning out the entire lecture.

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

Friday, thank goodness, was nothing like Thursday. Even if the days all still seemed the same, TSgt Vega was very glad that Thursday was finally over. However, this morning instead of reveille, he was greeted by Ricky Martin’s Livin’ La Vida Loca. 

He sighed, resigned to the fact that the song would now be stuck in his head. At least it’s not ‘Danny Boy.’ He was very thankful that there were no more lectures today. Yesterday had been weird enough. 

First, MSgt McCaffey, his Blue Rope supervisor, had asked him to keep an eye on the O’Neill kid. The kid had been off in la la land for the last two days. And when he finally did rejoin the group, he had gone all weird in class. Very, very creepy. 

And to top it all off, the kid had some kind of nightmare that woke half dorm at 0200 hours. And not just any nightmare, but a full blown screaming and kicking nightmare. TSgt Vega even had the bruises to prove it. He just wished he could understand what the kid had been screaming, but it was in some foreign tongue. Possibly Arabic. 

Regardless, when he grabbed the kid’s shoulder to wake him, he had been surprised at how quickly the kid had taken him out. A chop to the throat and a hefty kick to the gut had left him gasping for air as the kid fled to the corner behind the bunk. The other trainees had enough sense to stay back until the kid had pulled himself out of his nightmare. By the time TSgt Vega could breathe normally again, the kid was using that deep breathing exercise he had used during class to calm down and re-focus. 

The final insult had been the kid’s parting shot as he climbed back into bed. “Thanks for the wake up. Next time, just kick the bunk.” And then like that, the kid was asleep again. TSgt Vega spent the entire rest of the night jittery and wide awake from that adrenaline rush. 

Of course, now at 0445, the wide awake part was fading. He turned the Flight over to SrA Reglin for PC and breakfast. If he didn’t get some coffee now, he wouldn’t be awake for drill later. 

After a nice long shower and a change of clothes, TSgt Vega felt a bit more human. He reached for the coffee pot in the dining facility only to jerk his hand away as he spotted a small snake on the counter near the coffee maker. 

Heart beating in his chest, he carefully watched the snake. It didn’t move. He cautiously poked it with a straw. Still no movement. He finally grabbed the damn thing to find it was made of rubber with ‘Made in China’ stamped across its belly. 

Son of a b—ch! He calmed his frazzled nerves and carefully poured his coffee and made his way over to the Snake Pit. “Mornin’,” he greeted the other two TI’s. He dropped the rubber snake on the table.

“Ah! You found another one.”

“Another one?”

“Yes,” the TI pulled up a box that had four of the rubber snakes in it already. “I dare say the trainees will find the rest. These are just the ones the KP found in the kitchen area.”

“Great.” TSgt Vega sighed. He could hear the first of the Flights back from PC outside. Soon, the trainees were trickling into the dining area and wolfing down breakfast. Before long the entire dining facility was full of trainees. 

“Attention in the squadron. Due to a recent noise survey, all trainees are required to wear hearing protection within a five foot radius of any Training Instructor. Repeat, all trainees are required to wear hearing protection within a five foot radius of any Training Instructor. Any trainee currently experiencing hearing problems should report to Medical for a hearing test.”

TSgt Vega heard a deep sigh next to him. He turned to face MSgt McCaffey, the origin of the sigh. 

“You know, eventually, the practical joker will get bored and move on.”

TSgt Vega chuckled, “Is that before or after the rest of us all go insane?”

MSgt McCaffey returned with a smile of his own, “Oh, after. Definitely after.”

“Ah! There’s my Flight. Time to go.”

“What do you have today?”

TSgt Vega thought for a moment, “Just drill and job classification on the plate for today.”

“Good. Remember what I said about that O’Neill kid.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got both eyes on him. Am I looking for anything in particular?” TSgt Vega asked.

“Nah, just a hunch.”

“Alright, see you later.”

TSgt Vega had already intended to keep a close eye on the kid. Too many odd things were happening around him. But today, his close watch was for naught. Unlike the previous day, O’Neill was right on and focused, though quieter than he had been before. He must have worked whatever was bugging him out of his system. As TSgt Vega retired for the evening, he gave a sigh of relief that nothing else odd had happened. 

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG—

Saturday dawned bright and early. The Flight quickly formed up and left for PC and the weekly fitness evaluation. As the Flight was lining up in the dorm to head out for breakfast, one of the trainees called for TSgt Vega.

Now what? He sighed and followed the trainee to the dayroom. Their dorm was on the third floor of the building. As a result, the dayroom had a perfect view of what HAD to be the latest prank. 

In the center of the roof below the dayroom windows, was a splash of green with a white spot in the middle. It took a moment for TSgt Vega’s brain to catch up to his eyes. In amongst the rest of the roof, someone had setup a perfect square in sod. Then they had staked a sheep to the center of it. The poor sheep was munching away contentedly on a pile of hay seemingly without a care in the world, completely undisturbed by its rooftop surroundings.

“Is that a sheep?” one of the trainees asked.

“Yup,” responded another.

“Sweet! Definitely improves the view.”

Chuckling, TSgt Vega could make out other trainees across the way, peering through their dayroom windows. Shaking his head, “O’Neill, report this to the CQ. The rest of you, form up downstairs for breakfast.”

Breakfast was interrupted only by one announcement. “Attention in the squadron. All trainees departing for base or town liberty, the ‘no drinking of alcoholic beverages’ rule does not imply that alcohol may be imbibed through an IV or enema. Repeat, the ‘no drinking of alcoholic beverages’ rule does not imply that alcohol may be imbibed through an IV or enema.” The announcement only elicited a few rolled eyes, before the trainees returned to eating. 

TSgt Vega worked the Flight hard during drill practice, but was very satisfied with their progress. So satisfied that he released the Flight to go to the BX without an escort, and he only demanded a promise to return to the squadron by 1600. They even managed to keep it.

Yup, the Flight is shaping up very well indeed. 

CONTINUED IN ‘SECOND TO NONE - THIRD WEEK’


	4. Second To None - Third WOT

“Some people grin and bear it; others smile and do it.” Unknown Source

Third WOT Agenda: Basic Self Defense, Mental Preparation for Combat, Basic Field Security and Tactics, 2nd Uniform Issue, Haircuts, Weapons Evaluation, AEF Predeployment Preparation, AEF Assignment Notification

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

Jon woke up Sunday morning before reveille with the last vestiges of the nightmare fading. He wasn’t completely aware of his surroundings, still feeling the walls of Ba’al’s holding cell around him. The need to fight back making his muscles twitch. So when he felt a gentle touch on his shoulder, he reacted instinctively. He grabbed the hand and dropped, his weight dragging his assailant with him to the floor. He pulled the wrist up behind the man’s back almost to his shoulder blades and pressed his knee into his spine.

“Tal’bet, Gonash!” he hissed in Goa’uld, his free hand seeking the zat. “Surrender or I will kill you now, Jaffa!”

“I give! I give! For God’s sake, Uncle!” a terrified voice replied.

The voice more than anything helped Jon shake off of the last of the dream. It wasn’t the mocking voice of one of Ba’al’s Jaffa. It wasn’t even a man’s voice. He immediately released the kid. “Shit!” he cursed softly, scurrying backwards, and buried his face in his shaking hands. 

“Are you alright, Payton?” Jon heard TSgt Vega ask. 

“Yeah. Yeah. I just had the piss scared out of me,” came a quiet reply.

TSgt Vega turned to Jon, “You with us yet, Dorm Chief?” 

Guilt and shame coursed through Jon. He had attacked the dorm guard as he was doing his rounds. “Yeah,” he replied softly. “I’m fine.” Peachy. Just eff-ing great.

For years, Jack and Jon had dealt with their nightmares alone. But then they had both lived alone. No one to witnesses the nightmare take hold. No one to try and stop the nightmare before it had run its course. Only Dr. Frasier had ever succeeded in pulling Jack out of one of his nightmares and her secret had died with her. 

But now he had witnesses. Too damn many witnesses to his weakness. Too many people to see him attack a defenseless kid. Half-asleep or not, he had no excuse. What else had he done? Had he said anything? Revealed anything? Just breathe. Relax. It didn’t happen to you, remember. Jon, not Jack. 

Oh God, just who the hell am I kidding anyway? I’m not him. I’m just a cheap throw away copy. I can’t be him. I’m not allowed to be him. Jon gave a resigned sigh and glanced around.

TSgt Vega had carefully sat next to him, keeping some space. He obviously remembered the last time Jon had a waking nightmare and he didn’t want a repeat performance. “O’Neill, you get these nightmares often?”

Jon laughed abruptly, startling everyone. Half the bay was crowded around him. He leaned his head back against his locker and scanned the faces of his Flight-mates. Great, how do I explain this? He let out a long breath slowly. Simple, you don’t, that’s how. “Yeah,” he replied. He turned back to the dorm guard trying to divert attention from himself, “Sorry, I jumped you.” 

Payton turned and smiled, “Hey man, I shouldn’t have touched you, especially after the last time. No harm done. We cool?”

Jon smiled sadly back, “Yeah, we’re cool.”

TSgt Vega stood up and glanced around. “Well, ladies. Since you’re already up. Get dressed and ready for chow. Reveille is in 5 minutes. You have 35 minutes to be ready. That includes tidying your lockers, beds, and common areas. MOVE!” TSgt Vega stopped Jon with his hand. “O’Neill, I want to talk you about this later. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir,” Jon replied. Great. Just great. The damn TI was channeling Daniel now. Next thing you know, SrA Reglin would be spouting techno-babble. Oh joy.

Breakfast was a leisurely affair for BMT. After the initial excitement over the foaming sugar cubes by the coffee pot, the Flight settled down to eat. They didn’t even bother to warn the next Flight about the sugar cubes. Didn’t want to spoil their fun.

Jon continued to remain subdued. He still felt ashamed about this morning’s incident and could barely stand to look his Flight-mates in the eye. His thoughts were in turmoil. He had lost track of who he was. Was Jon actually Jack? Or did Jack become Jon? 

He finally pushed the whole thing to the back of his mind. Did it really matter who he was as long as he was alive? He re-lived every memory. He was caught up in every damn nightmare. The least he could do was claim them as his own. But how do you explain a nightmare, that you shouldn’t be having at all, to people who wouldn’t understand?

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

Once the Flight had marched back to the dorm, TSgt Vega called them all into the day room for the weekly agenda briefing. Jon sat near the front, not wanting to know if everyone was watching him, waiting for him to crack. 

TSgt Vega stood behind the podium in the day room, “Good morning, Trainees. Welcome to your Third Week of Training. It looks like some of you might actually make it through training to become members of my Air Force. By Third WOT, you are expected to know how to keep the dorm clean and tidy at all times. Sometime this week will be your Red Line Inspection. Failure to pass this inspection will result in you being recycled to an earlier week with another Flight. If enough of you fail, the whole Flight will be sent back to repeat Second WOT. Any questions?” TSgt Vega asked, scanning the room.

“No? Alright then, next up is this week’s training agenda. In addition to the daily PC and Drill, on Monday, we will be adding a basic self defense class. This will include an evaluation on what you already know and how to bring all of you up to a basic skill level. These classes will be taught by the Para-Rescue Training Cadre. So, if you are hoping to go into their VERY elite ranks, here is your chance to impress them. 

“Tuesday will continue the self defense classes and add a class on how to mentally prepare yourself for combat. Wednesday will see the third and final self defense class and a primer in field security and tactics. You will be using these techniques in Fourth WOT so pay attention.

“On Thursday, you will pick up your blues from logistics and get another haircut. Pictures will follow. That afternoon we will evaluate how well you have cared for your weapons. Friday is mostly classroom instruction for Warrior Week. AEF Just-In-Time (JIT) training, pre-deployment processing, assignment notification, yada yada yada. This will basically run you through the deployment process so you are familiar with it. 

“Saturday, after your FINAL PC evaluation, you will test on the first part of your ATO. Failure to pass either test will result in recycling to an earlier week. On Sunday, we bus out for the field portion of your training. Once there, you will receive extensive training on how to survive in a field combat environment, AKA Warrior Week. Keep in mind that you will be walking a significant portion of the way to your field site with your full field kit, issued on the deployment processing line.” TSgt Vega smirked as he watched the trainees’ faces. Jon was tempted to turn and look for himself, but decided against it. He still wasn’t comfortable meeting anyone’s eyes yet.

TSgt Vega gave an evil grin as he continued, “Finally, we get to start a new tradition this week: Mail Call. But before I get started, I want you to let you know the penalties. First, for each letter received from a female that is not directly related to you by blood, you will give me 5 push-ups. For fraternizing with the enemy, i.e. Navy, Army, Marines, or heaven help you, the US Coast Guard, you will give me a 2 minute leg lift. For care packages, you will share goods evenly among your element members and give me 30 sit-ups. Any questions?”

“NO, SIR,” they chorused. Jon could feel the excitement from his Flight-mates press against his shielding as they anticipated receiving letters from home. In spite of the threat of push-ups and sit-ups, these letters would be the first outside news from home that the group received since starting BMT.

“Alright then, Jones. Front and center.” Trainee Jones carefully picked his way to the front and TSgt Vega held up three letters. “I assume that Mrs. Edna Jones is a relation, but a Ms. Thiel is not, correct?”

“Yes, Sir.” The trainee dropped to the ground and cranked out 5 push-ups. He collected his letters and made his way back to his spot with a huge grin on his face. 

“Thompson,” he called next and so on. Jon began to tune out the proceedings. He wasn’t expecting any mail. He had intentionally left the wrong mailing address on Daniel’s voice mail to avoid receiving anything. However, he was startled back to reality with TSgt Vega’s sharp comment, “And finally, we have O’Neill.”

Jon frowned and stood up. 

“Personally, I don’t know where to begin, O’Neill. Luckily, someone already thought of that for me. I figure that this letter labeled ‘Urgent’ and ‘Read Me First’ would make an interesting starting point, don’t you?” TSgt Vega gave Jon a shit-eating grin as he handed him a single letter. “Go ahead, we’re waiting.”

“Yes, Sir,” Jon mumbled as he opened the letter, confused. It was an intradepartmental memo with a sticky note attached. The sticky note was in Daniel’s handwriting. It simply stated, ‘I am so sorry. I couldn’t stop him. Daniel.’

Frowning, Jon pulled the sticky note off and read the memo. 

\--------UNCLASSIFIED NOFORN-----------  
1 June 2005

MEMORANDUM FOR All Departments

FROM: MG Jack O’Neill (Director, DHWS)

SUBJECT: New Morale Program for Department Family Members

Since taking charge of the department, it has come to my attention that we currently don’t have any department wide morale programs (Thanks, Walter). So, I have taken it upon myself to create the first DHWS morale program. 

As we all know, our families have sustained us through the hard times. We often seek their support to make it through the tough spots. Surprisingly enough, in spite of seeing the worst, the next generation seeks to follow our example and join the military to make us proud. 

So to honor these courageous young people, who think they can do better than the old man, I have created the Next Generation Letter Project. Quarterly, a list of newly recruited family members from our own DHWS will be published. All DHWS members are encouraged to send letters and care packages to these young recruits to show them our support. Attached is the first list for 2005, 4th Quarter. 

CMSgt Walter Harriman has been appointed as the Next Generation Letter Project Leader. Anyone wanting to submit a name for the list is encouraged to contact him in Colorado. Thanks for your support

SIGNED

JONATHON J. O’NEILL, MG, USAF

Director

Attachment: 

4th Qtr List

\----------UNCLASSIFIED NOFORN----------

Jon went white. He couldn’t. He didn’t. Jon flipped to the attached list. There sandwiched between a Marine Recruit Jesus Madros and West Point Cadet Laurie St Claire, was one Airman Basic Jonathan O’Neill. With his correct mailing address and the approximate date he would be graduating. Oh hell! The old man is so dead!

“Well, Trainee?” TSgt Vega’s voice broke through Jon’s shock and brought him back to his current reality.

“I think I liked it better when I didn’t get my memos, Sir.” Jon continued to look stricken and handed the memo over to the grinning TSgt. 

TSgt Vega frowned as he read the memo. “Oh, well I guess that explains the rest of the letters.”

“The rest… Sir?” 

TSgt Vega’s grin snapped back into place as he pushed a large box out from behind the podium. “I counted 206 letters, 40 from females, 104 from the enemy, and 7 care packages. So you owe me, 200 push-ups, 208 minutes of leg lifts, and 210 sit-ups.”

Jon gave a resigned sigh, “Yes, Sir.” 

Jon was able to pay up on the push-ups and sit-ups, but only made it through 20 minutes worth of leg lifts before he was unable to continue. TSgt Vega claimed it was good enough for now and dismissed the Flight to their various Sunday tasks. 

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

After the dorm had been cleaned and most of the Flight had left for the chapel, Jon returned to the dayroom to sort through the letters. He was surprised to see how many of the names he recognized. Of course, Daniel, Sam, and Teal’c had each sent a letter. Sam had sent on a care package as well. Siler had sent the largest care package, and Jon was almost afraid to open it. However, the biggest surprise had been the letters from Mrs. Struble’s summer pre-school class. The hand drawn crayon pictures alone were enough to make him smile. They reminded him of Merrin and he wondered how she was faring. 

“So, how did you get over 200 letters anyway?” his bunkmate, Skoke walked up and sat down across from him, the piles of letters in between them. Ruso, Element Four’s leader also joined them. 

Jon gave them a wane smile, “Ah, long story. Here, I’ll let you read the memo.” He handed them the DHWS memo.

“What’s NOFORN mean?” Ruso asked. “It kinda sounds dirty.”

Jon smiled, “It’s a type of classification. It basically means no foreign release.”

“What is this DHWS? I don’t think I have ever heard of it.” Skoke was looking closely at the memo header.

Jon paused, “Uh… classified.”

“But it says unclassified at the top,” Skoke pointed out.

Jon gave them an evil grin, “The acronym is unclassified. Its long name that’s classified. Sorry.”

“So, this is your uncle,” Ruso commented. “Does he know just how badly he’s screwed you over?”

Jon laughed, “Oh, yeah. Some things are the same no matter what service you went through, officer or enlisted. He did it on purpose, sort of an uncle’s revenge. He’s probably just getting me back for calling Daniel that first week.”

“Man, you called someone besides family that week,” Ruso exclaimed. “I had to hear my mama and let her know I was good. You know. If I didn’t, I’m certain my papa would have found me and kicked my ass, Basic or no.”

Skoke chuckled, “I don’t think my family would go quite that far, but they would have been concerned if they hadn’t heard from me.”

“Yeah, well, in a way, Daniel is family. Just not blood.” Jon chuckled softly. “Actually, it’s kind of like everyone in this stack,” he gestured to the pile of letters, “is my extended family. I know most of them.” 

“Yeah, well, extended family or no, you are going to be one buff son-of-a-bitch by the time you graduate.” Ruso eyed the stack carefully. “You got a girl in this big stack?”

“Nope. Completely unattached.”

Ruso frowned and shook his head sadly. “That’s just sad, man.”

Skoke chuckled, “Just ignore him. He’s not thinking with the right head.”

“That’s cold, man. Plain cold. Besides, the Sarge said that some 40 of those letters were from girls. I figured at least one would be hot for him.” 

Jon smirked, “Ya sure, you betcha. You might not believe this, but I was a bit of a geek in high school.”

Ruso and Skoke both shook their head in disbelief. “No way. You could pass the PC test right now. The geeks are the ones we are trying to get fit enough to pass.”

“Really, I spent all my time studying or playing hockey. Hell, I even graduated a year early.”

“Now we know that you are pulling our legs. Who the hell plays hockey outside of Canada?” Skoke replied. 

“Yeah, well, I didn’t find high school all that challenging.” Jon shrugged and looked for a way to change the subject. “What about you two? You got girls back home?”

“Hell yeah, man,” Ruso replied. “I have two or three honeys waiting for me.”

“So… Ruso is single. Me… I don’t have anything serious. My girl wanted to go to college. Her parents paid her way. I have to use the GI Bill to afford it. So, we parted ways.” Skoke shrugged. “It’s probably for the best.”

The PA warning sounded. All three turned their attention to the PA speaker. “Attention in the squadron. Due to the truth in advertising laws, AAFES has changed their slogan from ‘We go where you go’ to ‘Like you have a choice.’ Repeat, the new AAFES slogan is ‘Like you have a choice.’ Please continue to patronize your only choice in military clothing needs.”

Skoke turned to Ruso, “I give it a four.”

“You’re generous. I don’t exactly understand the joke. So, two,” replied Ruso. 

Jon gave his two Flight-mates an odd look. “What?” he asked.

Skoke turned back to Jon, “Ruso and I started rating the pranks on a scale from one to ten based on how funny they were. That one was not so funny. Eh, maybe we just don’t have the right context.”

Jon grinned, “I bet some TI is laughing his ass off.” He gestured back at Skoke, “Would that be your context?”

“I guess,” Ruso replied. “At least then at least I’d know that someone got the joke,” 

“Poor baby, would it help if I explained it for you?” Jon asked sarcastically.

Ruso growled at him, “No way. If I can’t get it on my own, I don’t want no help.” Ruso’s face split in a big grin, “My favorite is still the mind control lasers. Pure genius.”

Jon started to pack away the letters. He had skimmed through all of them. A few he kept for re-reading later. Most, he just folded up. “Well, I’m off to see if TSgt Vega will open the civvies closet to store this stuff. The care packages are open to anyone who wants something.”

“I thought you only had to share with your element?” Ruso asked around a bite of chocolate walnut cookie.

Jon gave him a pointed look, “And which element would that be exactly?” Being the Dorm Chief meant he didn’t belong to an element.

The light went on in Ruso’s head, “Ah. Point taken.”

Jon picked up the box and headed over to the TI’s office. He set the box on the floor before knocking once on the door.

“Enter.”

Jon opened the door and stepped inside, “Sir, Trainee O’Neill reports as ordered. Would it be possible to store these letters with my civilian gear, Sir?”

TSgt Vega regarded him steadily. “Do you think you will get many more of these letters, Trainee?”

Jon winced, “Unfortunately, yes, I do, Sir. The Department is a rather tight knit group, Sir. We take care of our own, Sir.”

“We?”

Shit! I did it again. What the hell is wrong with me? “The… um…” He let out a huff of air. “The personnel in the Department have treated me like family, Sir. In many ways they are the only family I have, Sir.” Good grief, I must sound like the world’s biggest sap. Maybe I am just a bad copy of Jack. A sappy, defective one at that.

TSgt Vega just stared at him a few more seconds, “Okay, I’ll accept that.” He reached over and grabbed his keys. Lifting one, he gestured towards the locked closet. “We’ll see how many letters come in. For now, I’ll let you store them in the closet. Go put them away and come back. We still have to talk about those nightmares.”

Jon grimaced. “Yes, Sir.” Jon took the keys and his box to the locked closet. He unlocked the door and set the box just inside the door. Closing the door firmly, he returned to the office to face TSgt Vega. 

Once back in the office, TSgt Vega gestured to the chair and closed the door. “So, tell me. When did the nightmares start? What are they about? And what language were you speaking?”

Jon hesitated, “Sir, permission to speak freely and drop the ‘sir.’”

TSgt Vega watched him closely. “Granted.” 

Jon dropped his shielding for the first time since the fight. True, he didn’t ask permission to read the sergeant’s mind, but he had to resolve this nightmare issue now, before he was sent to medical for mental health screening. So, he dropped his shields and scanned the TI’s mind. 

Jon could feel that TSgt Vega was concerned for him. The TI was recalling past incidents where trainees had ongoing nightmares. Jon was surprised to find that his situation was not that uncommon. And this knowledge gave Jon a small sense of relief. 

He wasn’t the only one. TSgt Vega didn’t think he was defective or weak because of them. In fact, TSgt Vega felt responsible. He felt that he was putting too much pressure on Jon and that the pressure was triggering the nightmares. 

I’m not going crazy. I’m not weak. But am I Jack or Jon? Ah hell. 

“I have had the nightmares for years,” he replied, honestly. “I can’t really tell you what they are about. I can say that they are based on some past experiences that I would rather forget. They are triggered when I feel closed in, trapped. I end up feeling the need to fight back. Unfortunately, that is why it takes me a few minutes to remember where I am.”

“And the language?”

Jon tried to play dumb, “What language?” He remembered all too clearly threatening Payton in Goa’uld.

“I believe that you said ‘tibet go nash’ and then you called him a ‘jaffa.’” Again TSgt Vega regarded him closely. The sergeant’s thoughts cycled, trying to determine if he should pry deeper into Jon’s story or let it be. He didn’t recognize the words as coming from any language. To the sergeant the words sounded made up.

And with that knowledge, Jon had a plan. Jon looked TSgt Vega straight in the eye and told his first blatant lie. “It’s street slang. Not a language. At least not an official language, the way you mean.” 

The lie worked. TSgt Vega put two and two together and came up with five. Jon felt the TI’s relief that Jon’s nightmares were gang related. He had dealt with former gang members before. The nightmares and the violent awakenings made sense to the sergeant. The odd pieces fit together. TSgt Vega wouldn’t ask any more questions about the content of his nightmares. The sergeant’s imagination was already telling its own version of events. And in his version, Jon was recovering from his association with the gangs and didn’t need more help, just time and distance.

Jon eased his shielding back into place. Glad to have the mental barrier up once more. “Is there anything else, Sir?” Jon asked, signaling that the session was at an end.

“No. Thank you.” 

Jon left the TI’s office with his thoughts in turmoil once more. He didn’t plant the idea in the TI’s head, but he had come close. How far would he go to protect his secrets? Who was he really, Jon or Jack? And ultimately, who did he want to be?

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

Monday dawned to the tune of Blue Monday by Fats Domino. The jazz tune seemed to fit well with Jon’s mood. He didn’t really feel like facing this week, but knew that he would have to regardless. He couldn’t quit. It wasn’t in his nature. He may not know who he was exactly anymore, but he knew what he wasn’t. He wasn’t a quitter. 

“O’Neill, run this down to CQ and meet us on the parade ground for PC.” TSgt Vega handed Jon an envelope and turned to the rest of the Flight. “Form up, down stairs, double time.”

“Yes, Sir.” Jon took the envelope down the stairs towards the CQ office. As he approached, he could hear Col Harding bellowing. 

“Captain, I don’t care how it got in there. Get rid of it out now.” Then the colonel stormed past Jon as he walked down the hallway. Jon risked a glace in the Captain’s office as he walked past. Inside the office every surface was covered in tin foil. In the middle of the room, stood one confused Captain trying to peel the tin foil off of his computer. 

Jon continued down the hall way smirking. It had taken more time to smuggle the tin foil into the office over the weekend than it had taken to cover every surface. The hardest part had been muffling the noise from the CQ desk, just down the hallway. He almost forgot to wipe the smirk off his face as he handed the envelope to the CQ. “Sir, Trainee O’Neill reports as ordered. From TSgt Vega, Sir.”

The CQ took the envelope without looking up, “Thank you, Trainee. Dismissed.” Jon was grinning all the way out to PC. Nothing like a little prank to lift the spirits.

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

The Flight went through their scheduled PC, breakfast, and drill with practiced ease. They were truly starting to get the hang of their new life. For the first time, TSgt Vega gave them a compliment about their drilling. The whole Flight glowed under his praise. Before long they were marching to the gym where the self defense evaluations would take place. 

They lined up as instructed against the outer wall. In the center of the room were the ten meanest looking men Jon had seen in a long time. They were not especially large or bulky, like Teal’c, but wiry and lean and they moved with a feline grace. Off to one side was the CMSgt in charge of the Para-Rescue Indoctrination Training at Lackland. Apparently, he liked to see the new trainees for himself.

When Jon first saw the Chief, he felt that he should know him, but couldn’t remember from where. But when the Chief took his place in front of the Para-Rescue (PJ) Cadre, Jon felt the hairs on his spine rise up. It was Meatball.

“Good Morning, Trainees. I’m Chief Master Sergeant Gunderson. I am supervising this evaluation. These men here are experienced instructors in most forms of hand-to-hand combat. They will evaluate your current skill level and determine how much training you will require over the next few days. Likewise, they will be evaluating you for suitability in the elite Para-Rescue specialty. Their good opinion will ONLY give you a chance to test for the position, not guarantee you a spot. Their poor opinion will not even give you that. Line up, 5 to an instructor. Go!”

Jon definitely recognized him now. ‘Meatball’ Gunderson had been a SSgt the last time Jack had seen him. He had been one of Jack’s men in the old days, joining his primary team when Search and Rescue (SAR) was their primary mission objective. 

Meatball had even been the primary medic on the Special Tactics team that extracted Jack from his prison cell in Iraq. The memories of that rescue threatened to swim up from their dark corner in his mind. But Jon refused to fall into that trap again. He started to hum ‘Oh, Danny Boy’ and got in line with the other trainees, doing his best to ignore the Chief, and the memories he stirred up.

The evaluations were brief. Most of his Flight-mates had never been trained in any type of hand to hand combat. And those few that had taken Karate or some other form of martial art were only vaguely aware of how safe their sport really was. This wasn’t sparring for fun and games. This was combat. Winner take all. 

Jon was mentally preparing himself as he waited. He evaluated his opponent, as the instructor took down each trainee in turn, like a cat playing with mice. When he finally took his turn, he knew that he was better than the instructor. Or at least that Jack had been better. 

When the instructor gave him the signal to begin, he gave the instructor exactly what he was expecting. Jon appeared to charge in attack, but instead of coming straight on he dodged left, away from the instructors attack, and then right into an opening. Two hits and a kick had the instructor on his knees in surprise. Jon continued to press his attack and ended with the man in a loose choke hold. 

“I yield,” the instructor croaked.

Jon immediately let go and backed away from the man. The fight had been short, but had left his adrenaline pumping. Jon was instinctively looking for another target. 

“Well done, Trainee,” the Chief’s voice startled Jon. Chief Gunderson had witnessed the match and had come over to take a closer look at the one trainee who practically glowed with promise. “Care to try again against someone with a little more experience?” the Chief asked smiling.

“Ya sure, you betcha, Chief,” Jon said, momentarily forgetting himself.

The Chief’s smile faded a bit, “Do I know you?” he asked quietly, as they squared off. 

Jon gave him an evil grin, “Only in another life, Chief.” With that he attacked, taking a different approach from the first match. He tested the Chief’s defenses and probed his weak areas. Jack had been one of the Chief’s instructors, way back when. It was a familiar role for Jon. He found that Meatball still had a weak defense on the right, a strong left hook, and continued to ignore his legs. Finally, Jon attacked in a blinding whirlwind of blows, each a mere tap without any true force behind them.

“Enough,” the Chief bellowed. “You’ve made your point. I yield.” Then the Chief bowed to Jon. “What’s your name, Trainee?” he asked, grinning widely. It wasn’t often that the Chief had been bested by a brand new recruit.

Jon hesitated, and then gave a resigned sigh, “Trainee O’Neill, at your service, Chief.”

The Chief’s smile faded and his face went pale. “O’Neill?” He licked his lips nervously. “Any relation to an STO named O’Neill, with two ‘L’s?” 

S.T.O. Special Tactics Officer. Jack’s old specialty before the Stargate changed his view of the world. Yup, you could say he was a relation. Damn near the next best thing to the man himself. 

In a way, it hurt that the Chief couldn’t see past the mask that Jon had erected. Meatball had been one of his men. His best medic. The man who had ensured that Humpty-Dumpty got put back together again after a bad mission. And Jon had to pretend that he had never met him before. Pretend that he didn’t owe this man his life several times over.

“Yes, Chief,” Jon stated, sadly.

Jon and the Chief eyed each other for several more seconds. Neither quite sure what to say. Finally, Jon shook free of the spell and threw the Chief a cocky O’Neill grin. “Thanks, Chief.” Thanks, Meatball, for dragging my – his ass out of that Iraqi hell-hole. Thanks for being better at putting people back together then you are at taking them apart. Just… thanks. 

The Chief chuckled, “I don’t know what for. Ever consider Para-Rescue?” 

Jon’s grin faded. “Yes, Chief. But, I have other plans.”

“Ah, Combat Controller then, like Coyote. You’ll do well there.” 

Coyote. Another name that Jon hadn’t heard in years. It was Jack’s nickname from before. His handle. Cromwell had named him for the Indian trickster while they were still in STO training together. One of the few times Frank had admitted to his heritage. The name brought back memories from a time before. Before Iraq destroyed my perspective. Before Charlie died. Before West gave me an out. Before Daniel changed my life. Before a giant ring became the center of my universe. I can’t go back to before. Even if it wasn’t my before.

Jon continued to frowned, “No, Chief. I have other plans.”

Now it was the Chief’s turn to frown. “Why not? You have the skills needed to get in.”

Because the training would take years. Because I don’t need to retrain in a job I already know. Because I need to get back to the Stargate Program. “Because… I’m needed elsewhere.”

The Chief turned a skeptical eye on him, “We’ll see. In the meantime, you can test if you want. I doubt that you’ll have any problems passing, if Coyote has been seeing to your training.” With that the Chief turned and headed back to the other instructors. 

That was the one last thing that Jon remembered all too well about Meatball, he was one stubborn son-of-a-bitch. His stubbornness had kept Jack alive on that Iraqi rescue mission. Meatball had used every bit of dirty emotional black mail to keep Jack from giving up so close to making it home. Dr. Frasier had probably taken lessons from ol’ Meatball on how to bribe one Jack O’Neill into not giving up. 

Jon just wasn’t sure he wanted that legendary stubbornness pointed at him right now. Just what I need, another complication in my ‘oh so simple’ life.

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

The Flight made it back to the squadron just in time for the daily prank announcement. “Attention in the squadron. There will be a meeting at 1800 in Classroom 104 for the Caffeine Addicts Anonymous group. Repeat, there will be a meeting at 1800 in Classroom 104 for the CAA. Tonight’s topic will be field remedies for the caffeine addict. Bring the instant coffee packets from your MRE’s. See you there.”

Jon heard a few snorts while he grabbed lunch off the serving line. He dug into his food while he debated how best to discourage Chief Gunderson.

“O’Neill, is it true?” one of his table mates asked between mouthfuls of food.

“What?” he asked.

“Is it true that you got offered a chance to test for the PJ’s?” the trainee clarified.

Jon chewed thoughtfully, “Yeah.”

“Sweet.”

“Yeah, if you say so.”

The self defense class that afternoon went as well as Jon had expected. The instructor called on him several times to demonstrate a specific technique for the rest of the trainees. He and the other trainees with experience were tasked to assist the instructor in teaching the most basic techniques to their Flight-mates. 

Jon watched as Chief Gunderson and TSgt Vega chatted on the sidelines. Apparently, whatever was said was enough for the Chief. Jon wasn’t asked again if he wanted to test for Para-Rescue. Jon was both relieved and disappointed with the outcome. So, the Flight marched back to the squadron tired and eager for another round of Mail Call. Jon’s muscles dreaded the event with equal feeling. 

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

Tuesday dawned with reveille. Half the Flight was up before the first notes sounded. They were finally adjusting to the schedule. Jon was surprisingly nightmare free and that put him in a good mood to start the day. He heard a startled expression from the dorm guard, just as the Flight was ready to depart the dorm. Peering down the short hallway, he could just make out the newsprint on the paper covering the dorm doorway and smirked. You betcha, a good start indeed.

TSgt Vega took charge as the Flight hesitated, “Come on. Tear it down. You don’t want to be late for PC. The clock is ticking, trainees.”

In short order the Flight had cleared the mess, and was on its way down to the parade ground for PC. Their brother Flight across the hallway was still cleaning their’s up as they filed past. 

Again, PC, breakfast, and drill went smoothly for the Flight. The Flight had just settled into the classroom for the Mental Preparation for Combat class when the PA sounded, “Attention in the squadron. Today’s memorable quote is ‘Interdum feror cupidine partium magnarum Europea vincendarum’ attributed to a young Napoleon during his alter boy days. In English it says, ‘Sometimes I get this urge to conquer large parts of Europe.’ Contact the Military Historical Society for more information.”

“What was that all about?” the Lt Colonel from the Medical Group’s Life Skills department asked TSgt Vega.

Jon grinned as he watched TSgt Vega stumble through a bogus explanation about improving trainee morale through humor. The good LtC didn’t appear to be amused. 

Jon tuned out the rest of the class while appearing attentive. He knew that there was no true way to prepare yourself for combat. The mental health doctors could harp about conditioning and reflex reactions, but ultimately, you will either freeze or fight when faced with the prospect of kill or be killed. 

It is the most primal emotion that humans experience. And until these trainees were faced with the reality of their death, they would feel invincible. Nothing could change that. Only in that moment of truth would the fighters draw on their training. The rest would freeze. Though with the all-volunteer force, few of the latter ever bothered to join any of the armed services, while the former seemed to be drawn to it. 

Lunch was followed by another self-defense class. However, this time Jon was pulled from the class to meet with someone concerning his security clearance. SrA Reglin was decidedly close-mouthed about whom he would be reporting too. Jon was glad when they finally reached the trainee processing building. 

Jon followed SrA Reglin to a small conference room. What he saw inside made him grin. There, seated behind a small conference table, was Daniel. He was accompanied by a strange woman and a Lt Colonel that Jon didn’t recognize. 

Daniel baiting, just what the doctor ordered. Man, this day just can’t get better. Well, there could be cake…

Jon couldn’t wipe the grin off his face as he reported, “Sirs and Ma’am, Trainee O’Neill reports as ordered.” 

“Well, isn’t he just cute as a button,” the woman remarked before Daniel could silence her. “Ouch, was that really necessary, Daniel?” 

“Yes, now shut up.” Daniel replied, brusquely. Apparently, Jon wasn’t the only one Daniel-baiting these days.

The Lt Colonel looked decidedly uncomfortable as he turned to the TI, “Thank you, Airman, we can take it from here.”

“Yes, Sir.” SrA Reglin turned to Jon. “Report back to the squadron when you are finished here, trainee.”

“Yes, Sir,” Jon replied. 

SrA Reglin nodded and left, closing the door behind him.

“So, Daniel, are you going to introduce me to your new friends or what?” Jon asked.

“Jon, LtC Cameron Mitchell, the new leader of SG-1 and Vala MalDoran, the space pirate. Vala, Cam, Jon O’Neill, the second, currently in basic training,” Daniel ended in a flourish. 

Oh yes, there is a God, and he hand delivered one Dr. Daniel Jackson with a sexy space pirate. The day apparently CAN get better without cake.

“Wait a minute, Daniel. Wasn’t ‘O’Neill’ the name of that delightful man we met in your reigning city?” Vala interrupted. Jon’s grin grew and Daniel noticed.

Daniel gave a long suffering sigh, “Yes, Vala. Jack and Jon are related, sort of.” 

Jon just continued to grin at them. This was just too good. Finally, he shook his head and turned to the other new person, LtC Mitchell. “So, Colonel, how do you like the new post?” Time to lull Daniel into a false sense of security.

“It’s good. I’d like it better if I had a team, but you know how it goes.”

“Day late and a dollar short?” Jon supplied.

“Oh yeah.”

“Don’t worry, it’ll work out. It always does.” Jon knew that feeling only too well. 

Jon turned back to Daniel, who was peering at his notebook, “So, is there a reason you’re showing a space pirate around Earth, Space Monkey?” Jon grinned wider as Daniel shifted uncomfortably. This Vala person obviously got under his skin, like fingernails on a chalkboard. Jon especially liked how her eyes widened when he called Daniel ‘Space Monkey.’ She would surely torture Daniel for days with just that piece of information.

“No, no, not really. Just… Never mind. Aren’t we supposed to be conducting an investigation about a red flag on your security clearance?” Daniel tried to change the subject and shuffling through the papers.

“Oh, that. It’s nothing.” Jon couldn’t help but goad Daniel more. “The old man and I knew it was going to happen. The in-processing folks were under the mistaken impression that I didn’t have a security clearance yet, so they started a new one. Hence, the red flag. Next thing you know, Daniel is escorting a space pirate to interview a young impressionable training recruit.” 

“Impressionable, my ass,” was Daniel’s only reply. Jon just smirked at him.

LtC Mitchell looked confused, “How did you get a security clearance, let alone for… you know what?”

Jon schooled his face in a stern glare, “You can say it, LtC Mitchell. Voldemort.” He quickly glanced around the room, “See nothing happened.”

Daniel glared at Jon, “What Jon is trying to say is…”

Jon interrupted, “That I was born knowing. Known for years. Etc. Etc. Now, lets finish this so we can get back to harassing Daniel. Am I under duress? No. Am I currently being recruited by anyone outside the program? No… Well, except for Para Rescue, but I’m pretty sure they won’t kidnap me to make a point. Besides, my watch doubles as a locator beacon. Um… I think that’s it.” Jon looked over at LtC Mitchell, “Did I miss anything?”

LtC Mitchell was grinning, “Only the part where you reassure us that you are not trying to take over the world… this time.”

“Damn,” Jon replied. “I hate it when I forget that part.” Jon turned back to Daniel. “So, Daniel, about the memo...” Jon spent the next hour alternating between tormenting Daniel and pulling information from him with help from Vala and LtC Mitchell. 

When it was finally time to return to the dorm, Jon had decided that he liked Vala. She was good for Daniel, in a dangerous, moody sort of way. And while Jon found that LtC Mitchell was a bit reserved, his sense of humor peeked through at odd moments. Overall, they would work well together. But, he didn’t trust them to keep Daniel out of trouble. Then again, no one ever could keep Daniel out of trouble, so what else was new.

The brief respite from basic had given Jon a sense of well being. He was ready once again to take on the world. Even if the issue of his identity was still in question, he was ready to face the world head on once more. Now, if he timed it right, he would miss Mail Call.

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

Wednesday started off much the same as the previous days. Reveille was followed by PC and breakfast. However, drill was replaced by an extensive class on basic field security and field tactics. 

Today’s prank on the unit became evident when one of the instructors for their tactics class, sat down in his chair at the front of the classroom. A long, loud fart noise soon followed. Even in the face of a piercing glare, the trainees couldn’t help but crack a smile. TSgt Vega quickly intercepted the hapless instructor before he could tongue lash the trainees for their lack of respect. 

However, the initial good humor over the joke was soon replaced by tension as the trainees learned the basics in setting up a perimeter, defensive positions, and lines of fire. The instructor was clear to let the trainees know that the field tactics part of the course was for their information, in case their officers were killed and they were to assume command to complete the mission objective. The instructor followed that comment up with the fact that the evaluation teams enjoyed killing off the field commanders in an exercise just to see what the trainees would do. 

After that the trainees were dismissed for lunch and from lunch they went to their final self defense class. Just as the class was finishing, Chief Gunderson pulled Jon aside.

“Trainee, if I could have a moment of your time.”

“Chief, Trainee O’Neill reports as ordered.” Jon reported then went to parade rest.

Chief Gunderson seemed ill at ease as he tried to form his thoughts into words. “Trainee, I know that you think you can do some good in this world by pursuing your current course of action. However, I want to make you aware of how much good you could do with us.” 

He paused seeking the words, “General O’Neill was the best STO I ever served with. He saved so many lives… The lives of my teammates… Even, my own life on occasion. But he did it by utilizing his skills to their full potential. By ensuring a mission was as safe as possible before the plane was boarded. After… Later, he was changed. General West noticed and moved him out of Special Tactics. And eventually his skills wasted away, turning him into the pentagon bureaucrat he is now. The Coyote that I knew would rather have died than fly a desk. Yet, now he does.” 

The Chief stopped, trying to organize his thoughts once more. “I guess that what I am trying to say is that I see in you those same skills. I think you will do good where ever you will go, but I think that you could do more good with Special Tactics than with Security Forces.” He gave Jon a sly grin. “However, if you still say no, I won’t force you. I’ll just continue to ask for as long as it takes to convince you.”

Jon took a moment to absorb the information the Chief had given him. Finally, he asked, “Permission to speak freely, Chief.”

He received a frown followed by “Granted.”

“Chief, my uncle and I have the highest respect for you. You are the reason there was an after… And yes, he was changed. But as much as he despises his current position, he knows that the best way to utilize his ‘unique’ skills is to manage from above…”

Jon tried to find the best way to reassure the Chief, “West was a bastard. But he used the tools he had on hand. Jack was one of those tools. In retrospect, we have a lot to thank General West for. More, in fact, than we could ever tell you.”

Jon gave the Chief a trademark O’Neill grin. The Chief responded to it with a grin of his own. Jon continued, “My talents are not yet ready to manage from above, so here I am... Knowing what I know, I can’t in all good conscience accept your offer.” 

Trying to soften the blow of his refusal, he added in a decidedly chipper tone, “However, knowing that a man of your skills may come in handy someday, may I offer you a position in return? How do you feel about Deep Space Radar Telemetry? I know. Sounds boring, but we really do meet some interesting people. Lots of travel to far away lands. You might like it.”

The Chief chuckled and shook his head, “I doubt it’s nearly as interesting as it sounds. I’ll pass for now. You really do have Coyote’s talent for mischief, you know.”

“Yes, well, I’ll keep offering as long as you continue to return the favor.” 

The Chief gave a short laugh before continuing, “How’s that for a threat? You better get back to your Flight, trainee.”

“Yes, Chief.” Jon returned to his Flight for the march back to the squadron. 

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

Later that evening, after another nearly endless round of push-ups and sit-ups from Mail Call, Jon was walking through the dorm bays and helping his Flightmates and fix minor discrepancies with their lockers. He had a funny feeling that the Red Line inspection would come soon. And since his ‘spidey senses’ were tingling, he decided to get his Flight to focus on the super-minor details now, when they had the free time. 

Tomorrow’s prank was almost setup. It just had to have the time delay set to execute and fill the ink well. A matter of a few minutes at most. So, Jon had planned to be available all night, just in case.

“Here, see this T-shirt. The folding is perfect, but the edges are not quite flush with each other or the locker shelf.” Jon pointed to the stack. It was almost perfect. “Much better,” he commended once the stack was properly aligned. “Alright, close it up and don’t touch anything you don’t have to.” He patted the kid on the shoulder and moved to the next locker.

“Attention in the squadron. All trainees will note that all facility lights must be in the On Full Force mode when the room is empty. Repeat, all trainees will note that all facility lights must be in the On Full Force mode when the room is empty. Instructors are encouraged to police their areas of responsibility for compliance. Contact Civil Engineering help desk for more information.”

“What the hell is ‘On Full Force’ mode?” one of the more naive trainees, Bergen, asked.

Bergen’s bunk mate snorted and corrected him, “O. F. F. Off.”

“Oh…OH!”

“You guys want any help with your lockers?” Jon asked them.

“No thanks, Dorm Chief. Thomas came by earlier and checked us out. We should be good,” came the quick reply.

Just then, Ruso stopped next to Jon. “Okay, I have quadruple checked every locker in my element. The bathroom is spotless with only one pisser open. Are you happy yet?”

Jon smirked, “I’m never happy, but I’ll concede that we have done everything we can for now.”

“Excellent.” Ruso turned to the bay. “Everyone, don’t touch nothin’ and get to the day room.” Ruso left to collect the rest of the Flight and make his announcement in the other bay.

Once the whole Flight had assembled in the day room, Ruso stood in front of the podium. “Good evening, ya’all’s. It occurred to me not too long ago that we all have been here three weeks already and have done pretty much nothing but get our heads filled with stuff. In fact, I would go so far as to say we were zombies these last few weeks. So, now that we know we can hack it, I got with the other Element Leaders to help boost our morale a bit. Okay, Stretch, you’re up.”

Ruso was joined by Skoke, Thomas, and Jackson. Skoke spoke next, “We wanted to commend those of our Flight-mates who have improved their performance with an informal awards presentation. Please accept these prizes thanks to the Dorm Chief’s extended family, without which we would have to visit the BX a lot more often. For the Most Improved Running Time, Taylor from Element 3.” The whole Flight cheered the slowest trainee. “Nice job.”

Jackson stepped forward, “For the Best Made Bed, we have Soto from Element One. For the record, the quarter jumped 22 inches on the bounce.”

Thomas stepped forward as Jackson stepped back, “For the Most Likely to Get Married award, we have Lorenzo from Element Four. Man, we love you and all, but I think I know more about your girlfriend than she does.”

Ruso stood forward once more, “For the Least Likely to Get Recycled award, we have Stull from Element Two. I just want ya’all to know that this dude, has volunteered for night, dorm guard duty from now until graduation, just to study his ATO. He is so studiously avoiding having to open the door to the wrong person that he is willing to pull double shifts. Thanks a lot, man.” 

“Finally, we have the Mary Poppins’ Award,” Skoke spoke once more. “For the trainee who is ‘Practically Perfect in Every Way.’ O’Neill. Way to go Dorm Chief. Come on, speech.”

“Ack! I’m not so good with speeches. It’s one of my many flaws.” Jon held up his hands to stem the tide of boos sent his way. “I’m just sayin’… Alright, I get it.” Jon stood up and paused for effect. “Fine,” he held up his dog tags like an Oscar, “I want to thank my press agent for getting me the part… Yeah, well, what can I really say? You’re comparing me to Mary Poppins, fer crying out loud. Are you all so TV depraved that this…” he gestured around the day room, “is ‘must see’ entertainment?”

Another round of cheers was his only answer. 

“Wow, ya’all are desperate. Wait! I have an idea.” Jon poked his head behind the podium where the Flight had been storing the magazines that people had been shipped in their care packages. He rummaged around for a minute before pulling out his intended target. He flipped the magazine to a specific article and smirked before asking, “Alright, close your eyes and picture a TV. You somehow got stuck on the Discovery Channel and can’t find the remote. So, you are lulled to sleep by the following…” 

Jon dropped his voice to a deep bass, “What's the shortest distance between two points? A mathematician would tell you it's a straight line, but an astronomer would say it's a wormhole. Wormholes aren't just some made-up notion from … Star Trek. Scientists take wormholes seriously and are studying their properties in the hopes of one day creating one. IT'S ALL RELATIVE! Albert Einstein … laid the groundwork for the idea of wormholes with his general theory of relativity. It states that anything with mass or energy distorts the space around it…” (Wulsin, p6)

Jon stopped as the boos and hissing grew louder than his reading. “Hey, it could happen,” he replied. Sam had sent him the article in jest from one of her weekly science digests. Her post-it note, flagging the article had simply stated, ‘Ya Think!’ She had also highlighted the part of the article that used the worm in an apple example. 

“Fine… so what do you wise guys want to hear?” Jon asked.

“Fiction. Like Wormhole X-treme,” came one answer from the back.

Jon winced, “No way. That Col Danning is completely unbelievable. No Sci-Fi.”

“No science,” was one smart remark from his left.

“How about an old legend?”

“Yeah, but it has to have a moral. Its not a real story without a moral.”

“And a kick-ass hero.”

“And fighting. Nothing beats a good gory battle.”

“Oy… so, let me get this straight. You want a fictional story about an old legend with a moral, a hero, and lots of blood.” Jon thought about it for a moment. 

Then he flashed back to Chief Gunderson’s words about Coyote and how he had changed. Yeah, not exactly an old legend, but it was an all too familiar tale. 

Of course, now that he thought about that plot line, he couldn’t get it out of his head. He was even spinning it so none of the guys would suspect it was a real story. Ah hell! Therapy by BMT. This is so not what I need.

Yet, in spite of his reservations, Jon felt compelled to tell the tale. “Okay, let me tell you the story of two brothers, Indian Boy and Coyote and how it is never too late to forgive…”

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

Let me tell you the story of two brothers, Indian Boy and Coyote, and how it is never too late to forgive. 

This story begins, like all good stories do, at the very beginning. In a small Indian village lost to the mists of time, two brothers were born. 

The older brother was dark and brooding. His hair and eyes were black and his skin dark. But he was not grim or sad, just very serious. He went about his life with a dedication, loyalty, and purpose that was unrivaled by anyone else in the village. With his steadfast personality and solid dedication, the boy was like a mountain in the wind, firm and strong. In him, the elders hoped to maintain the tribal traditions. For this reason, he was called Indian Boy.

The younger brother was light and bright in comparison. His light brown hair and hazel eyes a stark contrast to his brother. Unlike his brother, he had a bright and wide view the world. And in this world, he could only see the fun and happiness it provided, or the next challenge to be conquered. He was the flowing river to his brother’s mountain. His love of life and laughter often lead him to mischief and pranks on his tribe mates. For this reason, he was named after Coyote the Trickster.

For all their differences, the brothers were closer than any two siblings could be. Indian Boy was always patient with his brother and never became angry when he was the focus of one of his bother’s tricks. Coyote for his part would always listen to his brother seriously and pay heed to his words. In their village, the brothers were inseparable. To call for one, would lead to a visit from both. This truth became fact and the tribe couldn’t see the need for life to be any other way.

Over time, the boys became men and trained, as men often do, to become skilled hunters and warriors. Both Indian Boy and Coyote became very skilled and were often asked to lead the hunt or to guide the war party. They even lead different parties outside the village without the constant presence of the other. But once back in the village, they would always seek each other out. Even their wives and children were inseparable. 

Individually, they were skilled warriors and leaders but together they were invincible, or so they thought. And so, together they swore a pact, to never leave each other, no matter what. It was an honorable pact, even as it was foolish.

Then came the time of great conflict. Game had become scarce and the hunting parties had to venture further and further to find game. More and more the hunters came across hunting parties from neighboring villages. And more and more often these meetings ended in bloodshed. 

But Indian Boy and Coyote were quick and clever. They would often steal into an enemy village’s hunting grounds and find game. If found, they would fight like three times their number and the enemy feared to face them. So, they hunted and fed the village and always they returned, until the day that one of them did not.

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

The hunt that day had gone well. Indian Boy and Coyote had found the doe drinking her fill by a stream. One steady shot had felled her. Indian Boy and Coyote congratulated themselves on their success and headed in to collect their prey. They would have done better to remember that they were still deep inside the enemy’s hunting grounds.

Too late, Coyote heard the noise. 

Too late, Indian Boy reacted to the attack. 

The enemy warriors poured out of the bushes and attacked. The fighting was fierce, but both Indian Boy and Coyote were highly skilled warriors. The enemy warriors were slowly driven back. Until one wild shot found a mark. 

Coyote fell to the ground and was still. Indian Boy saw his brother fall and was overcome with dark anger. The ferocity of his attack drove off the enemy warriors for a bit; just long enough for Indian Boy to drop to his knees beside his brother. Long enough for Indian Boy to see the arrow lodged in his brother’s scalp with wide unseeing eyes. Long enough to cut Coyote’s head dress free as a token to his wife. Long enough to flee back to his village with the news of his brother’s death.

Just long enough for Coyote to watch his brother leave him to die.

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

Indian Boy returned to the village with his news and his brother’s bloody head band. He comforted his brother’s wife and young son. He swore that they would never want for anything, that he would care for them as he cared for his own family. And the village mourned the loss of a great warrior, gone to the happy hunting grounds, for that is the way of the warrior.

But Coyote did not die. The enemy warriors returned within moments of his brother’s escape. And they found Coyote, hurt and bleeding in the dirt. They cared for his wounds and turned the proud warrior into a slave.

Each night he was beaten and chained to a tree like a dog. Each day he was worked near death. He was barely fed enough to survive, for even the dogs were fed before him. Some days he was cut, just to see him bleed, because it made the enemy warriors feel strong to so humble the great Coyote. 

For many moons, Coyote endured this treatment growing weaker and weaker. And each night that he dreamed, he saw is brother leave him to die, breaking their sacred pact. Their sworn oath to each other. Coyote grew to hate his brother. And his hate grew as large as his love had been, for the depth of that betrayal cut to Coyote’s very soul. And after so many moons of mistreatment, only his hate kept him warm at night. In the end, he lived only for hate.

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

Then one day a Storyteller came to the enemy village. The Storyteller was housed and fed, as was the custom. Seeing the dirty, broken man chained to the tree, the Storyteller asked about his story. 

The enemy warriors boasted of how they had defeated the great warrior, Coyote, who had come to steal their game. How they had felled him with one arrow. How his own brother had been so ashamed and disgraced that he had turned and fled from their attack. They talked about how merciful they were to treat his wounds and care for him as a slave, because his own blood would no longer acknowledge him. 

The Storyteller remembered and, as was the custom, told the tale at the next village.

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

When the story finally reached Indian Boy and his village, the tale had grown, as tales do with the telling. The Coyote described in the story bore little resemblance to the proud happy warrior that the village had known; not only in his practice of evil deeds prior to the fight, but the speed of his defeat and the depth of his fall from grace. Many in the village dismissed the story outright; they would rather believe that their friend and fellow warrior was dead. 

But Indian Boy did not dismiss the tale so quickly. Hope surged through him, as he thought about being reunited with his brother once more. Once he was set on a course, like the mountain, nothing could move Indian Boy from his chosen path. He argued his case with the Chief and was granted permission to lead a war party to rescue his brother. Many warriors volunteered to go with the war party. Even the young apprentice Medicine Man, Skylark, volunteered to go. For Coyote was well respected and loved among his people.

So righteous was Indian Boy’s wrath and heated was his blood that the enemy fled in terror before him. The once proud enemy warriors cowered in fear of Indian Boy’s war party and they fled before giving more than a token resistance. And so the war party was able to free Coyote from his enslavement without incurring a single scratch. 

Yet, when the warriors finally laid eyes on their friend, Coyote, and they could finally see the extent of the abuse he had endured, they could feel nothing but pity. He was broken in body, spirit, and mind. As they circled around him, he would only smile and say that this was a good last dream, to see his friends once more, before he allowed death to take him to a better place. It was only when he saw his brother that Coyote was moved with any kind of spirit. 

Coyote shot dark evil looks at his brother. “I guess the dream is not so good,” he told the others. “For the traitor stands before me bold as a bear. Leave me, fiend, that I may die in peace, for I have no brother.” And with that he turned away from them all and willed himself to die.

But young Skylark would not allow that. He took charge from the stunned Indian Boy. He directed the other warriors to build a travois and went about binding Coyote’s wounds and straightening his limbs. When Skylark was done, he could see that his body and maybe even his mind would eventually mend, but all would be lost if Coyote’s spririt wanted to die. 

When they were ready to make the journey back to the village, Indian Boy refused to allow anyone else pull the travois. He alone would bear the burden of carrying his brother, along with his shame, sorrow, and guilt. It was a heavy load that Indian Boy carried so willingly.

Skylark spent the entire journey beside Coyote, coaxing and cajoling the warrior to continue this journey. He talked of Coyote’s wife and young son. He talked of the young warriors needing training and of the old enemies that needed killing. He used every skill he had as a medicine man to renew Coyote’s flagging spirit. And eventually, he succeeded in rekindling a tiny spark. 

Coyote made it home to his wife and son. But to Coyote, his brother was dead.

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

Years passed, Coyote and his family moved to a different village, far from Indian Boy and any chance sightings. And for Indian Boy that merely compounded his guilt. 

His brother, whom he loved and respected above all others, could not stand to look him in the eyes. In fact, went out of his way to avoid acknowledging him in any way. When Coyote finally moved to another village, Indian Boy heard him remark to another warrior that the move was to escape Indian Boy’s taint, that sometimes the urge to kill him was too strong to resist. 

And so, Indian Boy bore his burden of guilt, for he believed that he deserved every bit of spite and hate his brother shared. Because he understood it. He hated himself for leaving his brother to that fate. He too could not forgive himself for that one mistake. 

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

But Coyote needed his brother more than ever. The hate and pain that he had cultivated to keep himself alive at the enemy village, was slowly poisoning him, twisting his gut until he had to kill something, anything to make it stop. 

First, his wife grew more distant, and then his son. It seemed that he seldom talked to anyone about trivial matters, like making bread. And no longer was the sound of laughter heard so freely, if at all, from his lips.

When he moved his family, he thought that he would find peace away from the constant reminder that Indian Boy had provided. Instead he found that his darkness no longer had a target. 

He led more and more war parties as times passed. Seldom leading a hunt. He even acquired a blood thirsty horse to aid in his battles. Until one day, he came home and found that his war mount had killed his son. It was on that day that the small spark of spirit, that Skylark had tried so hard to kindle, finally blew out all together. On that day, Coyote lost the battle with his darkness. Instead he allowed it to consume him.

Coyote left his wife all his possessions and walked out of the village on his last journey. No longer would he seek the company of people, for they brought only pain. No longer would he flee death, for his spirit was already as dead and his body longed to follow.

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

But the Spirits have a strange way of punishing and rewarding the strong ones. The heroes so often sung about. Coyote left seeking his death, but instead found his life. 

His journey took several years, and is a tale in itself, but two important things happened on this journey. First, he found a pure spirit. A seer whose purity of spirit refused to let the darkness fester in his troubled soul. Whose bright light forced Coyote to look into himself and find truth. 

Second, he found a new purpose. No longer was he an angry, bitter warrior. But now he was a leader and a protector. This purpose grew to fill up the void in Coyote’s heart, it rekindled his spirit, and finally healed that part of him that was so broken by the loss of his son. 

But the Spirits were not done with Indian Boy and Coyote just yet. 

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

There finally came the day when the village where Coyote was living needed help. The news came to Indian Boy’s village quickly. And while Indian Boy dreaded the reception his brother would give him, he could not turn away and do nothing. He would offer his help, even if Coyote killed him for it.

From the stories told, Coyote’s village was under attack. So, Indian Boy brought a war party to the village to rescue the people. What he found instead was Coyote preparing to do battle against an old grizzly bear alone. 

When Coyote first saw Indian Boy, after all those years, the old anger and pain rose up inside him. He fought and won for control of his anger. He had a new purpose now and he was no longer burdened with that darkness. Though he now realized that some of that darkness would always remain with him. For it had shaped who he was and helped to define his new purpose. No, he was not happy to see Indian Boy, but he was no longer ruled by the dark and could live with the pain of acknowledging him. 

Indian Boy was glad that his brother appeared to be doing well, in spite of his continuing anger. He could see, in a sudden insight, that he had once again abandoned his brother when he needed him most. Guilt and remorse flowed through him as he realized how his brother had struggled to heal himself all alone. And Indian Boy resolved that no more would he allow Coyote to suffer for his lack. No matter how painful, he would not leave Coyote’s side willingly again.

So, with great reluctance, the two brothers, reunited once more in a tentative alliance, moved to do battle with the old bruin harassing the village. 

The brothers tracked the bear to a large cave. That was when they found out why the bear had been harassing the village. Someone had wounded it gravely. It was in pain and angry at the humans who had caused its pain. They would have no choice but to kill it. And a wounded bear did not die easy.

Together they threw together a plan to trap the bear under a huge net weighted down with rocks. Once the bear was caught, they would be able to approach close enough to finish it off. The net was easily made, but the two brothers argued over the bait. Each one wanting to take on all the risk. They finally decided that they both would play bait and maybe reduce the risk to each. 

Just before they approached the cave, Indian Boy stopped Coyote. He quietly and humbly asked his brother for forgiveness for abandoning him all those years ago. But, Coyote was still angry at Indian Boy and at the time decided that he could not forgive him yet. Indian Boy accepted his answer and together they approached the cave with the bear.

By throwing rocks and sticks into the cave, the brothers enticed the bear to chase them. They ran swift and sure through the woods to the net. But the Spirits are a fickle group, and just as the brothers cut the net free, Indian Boy tripped and fell. The bear was hampered by the net but not so much that Indian Boy was out of reach. 

Coyote panicked. He tried to grab is brother and pull him to safety, but the bear reached Indian Boy at the same time. Coyote struggled and pulled, stabbing at the bear’s neck and paws but to no avail. It had Indian Boy and was determined that they would die together. 

It was in that instant that Coyote realized how badly he wanted to forgive his brother. Only now with death running through the woods towards him, did his hatred cease to blind eyes, to see that he still loved his brother as much as always. That it was Coyote’s hatred that had driven them apart. With this realization, his anger, fear, and grief left him speechless.

But as always his brother was the steady one. With his broken body slowly bleeding out next to the still form of the bear, Indian Boy smiled at his brother and said simply, “I forgive you.” And there he died, happy, in his brother’s arms at last.

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

Jon had spun the tale for a good hour. His flight mates had become entranced by the tale. However, now that the story was finally over, they came alive once more.

“Wow, O’Neill, did you just make that up?” Jackson asked.

“Yeah, kinda, sorta. It is a completely original tale of sorrow and woe.” Jon was still caught up in the emotions of the story. The re-telling of this old pain had left him drained physically and emotionally. He was not exactly firing on all cylinders right now. 

He glanced at his watch hoping for escape and found salvation. “Oh, will you look at the time.” He tapped on his watch-face a few times for emphasis, “we got just a few minutes till lights out. Okay, Campers, let’s settle in for the night.”

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

Thursday arrived in much the same way as the previous weeks. Jon often wondered if he was in another time loop because of the sheer similarity in schedules for each morning. PC, breakfast, and drill. Though this time drill was cut short to ensure the Flight made the march over to Logistics where their Class A blue uniforms were ready for pickup. 

Several long hours later, the Flight was ushered through the barber shop for a quick trim. This time, instead of a straight buzz, they were allowed to leave what little growth they had on top, while the sides and back were cleaned up. 

Sometime while they were gone that morning the Red Line inspection team had passed through their dorm. The Flight as a whole passed the inspection with flying colors. Each trainee had at least one mark, because of the morning rush, but no one failed the inspection. The Flight was ready to celebrate passing this milestone on their way to lunch. TSgt Vega was actually seen grinning on the way to the Snake Pit.

The highlight of the day was during lunch. The same contraption that had been rigged for the glitter trap was used to dispense disappearing ink onto the awaiting TI’s in the Snake Pit. The TI’s, upon hearing the tell-tale snap of the trap, simply stayed put until the last of the ink fell. Their initial outrage over the ink stains faded as the ink quickly disappeared. One Blue Rope actually started laughing as the last of the ink faded from sight.

That afternoon the Flight took pictures both as a Flight and individually. Even Jon ordered a set of photos on a whim. At first he wasn’t sure why. Later, he realized that he didn’t really have any pictures of himself in THIS life. Sure he had plenty of Jack, or more to the point, photos from Jack’s life. But, he had far too few of who he was now. Be it Jack’s clone, cheap copy, or a whole new person. He couldn’t go back. So, he took his first few tentative steps towards the future. ‘A thousand mile journey begins with but a single step.’ I may only be at the beginning of this journey, but I am determined to find the destination, where ever that may be.

The Flight finished out that afternoon with a weapons check. Thanks to Jon’s insistence on having the entire Flight inspection ready, all his Flight-mates passed this inspection as well with flying colors.

Just after Mail Call, TSgt Vega announced that the Flight would once again have base liberty for passing their Red Line inspection. They were to report back to the dorm by 2000 hours. Jon spent that entire time out in the base’s static aircraft display, enjoying the solitude. He found sitting among the old war birds comforting, like being surrounded by old friends. 

Jon made it back to the squadron just in time for the evening’s announcement. “Attention in the squadron. Due to the recent news coverage over a friendly fire incident, the Munitions Systems Specialists wanted to reassure USAF members by stating that ‘Smart Bombs have bad days too.’ Repeat, ‘Smart Bombs have bad days too.’ Contact the Munitions Systems Branch for more information.”

Jon went to bed early. He needed to get up early to pull off tomorrows prank.

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

As was the new habit, on Friday reveille had been replaced. Today it was ‘Thank God It's Friday’ by R. Kelly. TSgt Vega, having gotten over his initial ire over the strange pranks, was actually looking forward to them now. 

Especially today. Today, he was expected to escort his young charges through the pre-deployment process. Having been through this process far too many times himself, he failed to see how he could make it anything but a trial. A long, boring trial. He really hated the ‘hurry up and wait’ of deployment processing. 

TSgt Vega was really proud of his Flight. They had really pulled together and were demonstrating a level of teamwork that surpassed all his previous Flights. Even the petty complaints seemed to be few and far between. Passing the Red Line inspection had not been a surprise. But the comments from the Inspection Team had been. They stated that they had to look twice as hard to find a single discrepancy in each locker. They found that granting a clean pass in Third WOT was inviting complacency, but were recommending this Flight for evaluation as an Honor Flight for their superior performance. They would be looking to see if the Flight still held to the high standard in Fifth WOT. 

So, TSgt Vega was in a very good mood and hoping that something, anything would liven up this day. Unfortunately, his prayers were answered. 

“Be careful what you wish for,” he whispered quietly as he surveyed the chaos in the classroom. 

All the chairs had been disrupted and were out of alignment, the room smelled of maple syrup. The linoleum was covered in a sticky mess, presumably source of the maple smell, and there was a small piglet happily lapping up whatever had been poured on the floor. The only good news appeared to be that the pig had yet to relieve itself in the room. 

“Ah… O’Neill,” he called hesitantly.

“Sir, Trainee O’Neill reports as ordered.” The trainee had immediately rushed over at his call.

“Um… Find out if anyone in the Flight is experienced at catching pigs.”

The trainee gave him an odd look, before replying, “Yes, Sir.”

As the trainee turned back to the Flight, TSgt Vega stopped him. “Oh… and send a runner to CQ with the news,” TSgt Vega gestured to the pig and the general disruption of the room.

This time the trainee couldn’t help cracking a smile, “Yes, Sir.”

Before too long, order had been restored and TSgt Vega was fervently hoping that nothing would liven up the day anymore. “Alright, today is the bag-drag for deployment to Warrior Week. You will be issued field gear and chemical gear, including a gas mask. Please ensure that your mask fits properly. You will be using it in a tear gas chamber.” He gave all the trainees a stern glare. Here to conduct your just-in-time Readiness training is SSgt Gorman from the CE Readiness Flight.”

The next hour was spent sizing, issuing, and inspecting gas masks. Trainees were drilled in the proper techniques for putting on and pulling off the mask, or doning and doffing procedures. TSgt Vega quietly stood to one side while the trainees became familiar with the new piece of equipment. 

“Remember, you fight like you play. If you don’t practice with a sense of urgency now, you will fail when you need it most.” With that last bit of advice, SSgt Gorman left the trainees in TSgt Vega’s care.

TSgt Vega had a grim smile on his face as he took to the front of the classroom. “From here on out, except for meal times and PC tomorrow, I expect you to wear your gas mask on the ready. If at any time you hear the phrase ‘gas, gas, gas’ you are expected to properly don your mask within the appropriate time frame. Am I clear?”

“YES, SIR!”

“Yes, now we ha…” TSgt Vega was interrupted by the PA.

“Attention in the squadron. Today in the News: USAF contradicts US Navy’s evidence that submarines are safer than aircraft. The USAF has refuted the USN claim that submarines are safer just because there are more aircraft in the water than submarines in the sky. HQ USAF finds the logic behind the claims to be faulty and have concluded that ‘someone has been out to sea too long.’ Repeat, Air Force Headquarters thinks that ‘someone has been out to sea too long.’ Speculation is rampant on just who that ‘someone’ could be. Anyone concerned over the safety of aircraft vs. submarines should contact the FAA for more detailed information.”

TSgt Vega gave grin and continued, “As I was saying, take a 5 minute break before the next class. Make sure your mask carrier is worn properly. I WILL be testing you.”

The next class was the Medical Threat briefing. TSgt Vega liked working with MSgt Cooper from the Public Health Office. MSgt Cooper encouraged the TI’s to unexpectedly interrupt the class to test the trainees. This gave TSgt Vega free reign to test them. As it was, he called the ‘gas, gas, gas’ drill three times during class while MSgt Cooper smiled at the trainees struggling to get into their masks in the allotted 9 seconds. 

However, TSgt Vega was careful not to interrupt the flora and fauna portion of the briefing. These Texan threats were all too real and not made up for some fictional site.

“… So, the main threat you will have to worry about outside of the disease carrying mosquitoes is the Texas Cottonmouth. Just follow my advice and you won’t have to deal with the big snake chasing you down… Alright, so in conclusion, eat only what you are given. MRE’s while unpalatable, generally won’t make you ill. Drink only the water provided and CLEARLY marked as ‘potable.’ That means drinkable for the slower people in the group. Bugs will bite, so use your insect repellant and bed nets. Yes, we have had a few cases of West Nile Virus right here on Lackand AFB. You really don’t want to be next case. It tends to piss off your TI. Finally, leave the local wildlife alone. Both you and it will be much happier. Now, any questions? No?” MSgt Cooper looked over at TSgt Vega, “They never do have any questions before they’re tossed into medical. Oh well. Have fun in the field, kids.”

TSgt Vega gave them another break and waited for the instructor for the next class. His only fun for the rest of the day would be yelling ‘gas, gas, gas’. Oh joy! After the briefings this morning, they would go to the deployment processing center to have their Warrior Week gear issued. Yet more fun.

TSgt Vega smiled as the petite Capt Harding filed into the classroom. Several trainees tensed up and shied away from her rank. Ah well, time to round them up for Field Sanitation and Hygiene, then FINALLY the Assignment Notification briefing.

TSgt Vega collected the trainees and called them to order. The class seemed to progress really well and finished quickly. Thank goodness. “Alright, final briefing for today. I have here your assignment notification order. Please review it carefully…” TSgt Vega walked through the briefing quickly and the trainees were more than ready to depart for lunch. “…Okay, that’s all folks. Lets form up for lunch. Keep your masks on. After lunch you will report to the dorm and pick up your web belt, canteen, helmet, and rifle. Form up outside the dorm in… “ he glanced at his watch. “… 30 minutes. FALL IN!”

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

That afternoon as TSgt Vega watched his Flight collect their field gear, he was again taken with the notion that this wasn’t the first time his Dorm Chief had done this. O’Neill had taken last spot in line and as the others would hold up the line with questions, he would quickly sort out the issue before the Logistics folks could even work their way over to the stalled trainee. 

Most notable was when O’Neill had asked for a tactical vest over the load bearing suspenders or LBEs. When he was turned down, he asked if it would be possible to salvage equipment from the downed enemy. That gave TSgt Vega a visual that he would rather live without, so he said yes, just to move him on. At that point the trainee got an evil glint in his eye and continued picking up his gear. TSgt Vega was glad that he was a part of the Exercise Evaluation Team or EET for the field exercise. Technically, he wouldn’t exist in the game, just observe. He really didn’t want O’Neill to think he was the enemy. Even for pretend.

And that reminded him of the conversation that he had with Chief Gunderson earlier in the week. Apparently, the Chief was quite taken with the O’Neill kid and wanted to know more about him. TSgt Vega filled in what blanks he had, but outside a high ranking general as a relation and his extensive coaching, he really didn’t know much about the kid. All he could really add was that the kid was serious, reliable, and a natural leader. He left off the nightmares. Some things were just too personal.

Then the Chief had dropped the bomb that the kid had easily defeated two instructors with a Level 3 combat skill rating, including himself. So, TSgt Vega’s earlier suspicions that the kid could be dangerous were confirmed way beyond his imagination. The kid could have easily killed himself or the dorm guard when he struck out in his nightmare driven haze.

But the part that gave him pause was not that the kid could have killed, but that he didn’t. If his earlier assumptions about gang involvement were true, then why did he hesitate to kill? Why ask for surrender? The blows were aimed at disarming and disabling, not crippling or killing. Surrender was a police or military response, not a criminal one. Curiouser and curiouser. 

Is today over yet? No wait, we still have Mail Call. Ah, take joy in the small things. Speaking of which, it was time to head back to the squadron.

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

Saturday morning started with the next challenge. The Final PC Evaluation. The Flight got up and went through the final evaluation for the most part successfully. Overall, TSgt Vega lost 6 trainees. They just couldn’t make the two mile run under the time limit. However, a few were close, only a 15 second split from passing. They would have one last chance to pass tomorrow morning, before the rest of the trainees were bussed out for Warrior Week. Otherwise they would be recycled back to Second WOT. 

Breakfast was disturbed only by the odd, red, foaming cereal. The cereal, which looked normal, seemed to foam into a red froth when milk was added. That the foam resembled movie blood was a serious draw back to the appetite. 

After breakfast, TSgt Vega presided over the first of the Knowledge Tests. While he had harped on studying, he knew that a good portion of the trainees had ceased actually reading the ATO by the start of Third WOT. That was one reason he reminded them last Sunday that they would test today. Even with the reminder, 9 of his trainees failed the Written Test. They too would have a chance to retake the test tomorrow before the bus left. Their last chance to stay on track with their peers.

TSgt Vega hated to recycle trainees. It was especially a disappointment when it was over fitness and the trainees in question had worked so hard to pass. Not surprising, was the fact that his Dorm Chief had passed both tests with flying colors. In fact, 7 of his trainees had earned the Warhawk Award for fitness excellence. 

The PA interrupted his thoughts, “Attention in the squadron. Today’s Bunny Survival Test has been cancelled due to protests from PETA. Repeat, today’s Bunny Survival Test has been cancelled due to protests from PETA. Testing will resume once PETA has announced what types of tests will not unduly endanger the marshmallow bunnies involved in the testing.”

TSgt Vega cracked a grin and called over his Dorm Chief. If anyone could get these trainees to pass their re-take tomorrow, fitness or written, it would be O’Neill.

CONTINUED IN ‘SECOND TO NONE - FOURTH WEEK’


	5. Second To None - Fourth WOT

“Do what you can, with what you have, where you are.” Theodore Roosevelt (1858-1919) 26th president of the U.S.

Fourth WOT Agenda: Deployment Briefing, Equipment Issue, Field Hygiene, Field Exercises, Anti-Terrorism Training, Chemical Biological Nuclear Defense Training, Confidence Course, Culminating Exercise

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

Jon leaned back and stretched his cramping back muscles. He had spent the last hour typing on his computer, setting up this week’s prank. Initially, he wasn’t sure how he could continue to pull his practical jokes on the squadron while his Flight was deployed in the Warrior Week field training exercise (FTX). But he also didn’t want the command structure to figure out that his Flight was the source of the jokes. 

So, he was in a quandary as to the best course of action. He could try to make it back to the unit during the week, but he doubted that the FTX would be close enough to the unit to make that option feasible. He could stop playing practical jokes for the rest of his time in basic, but that would take away all his fun and still leave his Flight under suspicion. Or, plan C, he could use the computer to play pranks in his absence. 

He opted for Plan C. His main challenge would be to devise a prank that would have no easy countermeasures. So, the repeat calling of the PA and even CQ was out of the question. If Col. Harding changed the phone number again, Jon wouldn’t know about it until he returned, spoiling his fun. But he was able to devise a significantly evil plan that would be better than his ‘Oh, Danny Boy’ routine at driving the squadron members bonkers.

Jon typed in the phone number for every phone in the entire squadron, including each dorm and classroom, into his dialing program. He intentionally left the CQ phone number off the list, just in case. Then he programmed the computer with 10 different pre-recorded messages. Some were prank calls asking to order a pizza or Thai food and don’t give the receiver any way to politely end the call. Others were setup as if the caller was actually answering the phone, but they couldn’t get good cell phone reception. So, they keep asking the receiver to speak up. But Jon’s favorite was the recording where the caller puts the receiver to hold and then has a barely heard conversation about his girlfriend and their relationship problems with a mysterious third party. The last recording could go on for ten minutes, if the receiver holds out that long before hanging up.

Finally, Jon programmed the dialing program to call a different squadron phone number every two hours from 0700 to 1900 hours with one of the pre-recorded messages. The program was setup so that the numbers did not repeat until all of them had been used. 

Jon figured that after several days of this the squadron would be wishing they had the more mundane physical jokes instead. Psychological warfare was always much more effective if the victim was expecting it, dreading it, and it didn’t happen. He was certain that the CQ would be wound up tight waiting for their call. 

With the computer setup and ready to go, Jon just needed to safeguard it against casual detection. He had been keeping it in one of the ventilation ducts on the roof. So far, the computer had remained undetected, but Jon made sure to re-secure the grill every time he put the computer back. He also double checked the power cord to ensure it was still buried under the roof gravel. 

Computer in place, he quickly policed the area to ensure that he had removed all sign of his presence. He even scattered the roof gravel back into random patterns to remove evidence of his foot prints. 

Satisfied that his secret was safe, he quickly looked over the edge of the roof to see if anyone was around. Usually, he was alone at 0300, but you never can be too careful. The parking lot was clear and no one was in sight, so Jon carefully swung his body over the edge of the roof and lowered himself onto the railing of the fire escape outside his dorm. Silently, he set his feet back onto the safety of the fire escape. He scanned the area one more time before turning his attention to the fire escape door. 

Jon pressed his ear to the door and listened for any sign that the dorm guard was patrolling. Hearing only the soft snores of his fellow trainees, Jon eased the door open a crack and listened again. With still no indication of anyone awake, he opened the door just enough to squeeze through and quickly closed it silently behind him. Jon scanned the nearby area and then turned back and removed the stick he had used to disable the alarm on the fire escape. 

Now, safely back in the dorm, Jon just had to sneak back to his bunk. He removed his sneakers and silently padded back to his bunk. He gave a small sigh as he slid under his covers once more. His last conscious thought was ‘Mission Complete,’ before he fell into a light sleep.

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

Jon awoke to the sounds of his Flight-mates getting up, before reveille. He yawned one last time before getting up. He completed his morning routine and dressed in his PC gear. He had promised the trainees who failed the PC evaluation yesterday that he would run with them to help them achieve a fast, steady pace. With luck, they would pass the run. 

Unfortunately, Jon was almost certain that most of them wouldn’t be able to keep up. The trainees that failed the test had actually achieved a personal best time with yesterday’s failed run. Two had nearly passed out after pushing themselves past their limits in one final effort to pass the PC test. Personally, Jon thought that they could use the extra two weeks to get into better shape. But he would do his best to motivate them this morning regardless.

As reveille sounded, the 6 trainees that had failed the PC evaluation yesterday lined up next to him, ready to retake the test. Jon gave each of them a cocky grin as they waited for TSgt Vega to make an appearance. 

“Are you guys ready?” Jon asked quietly.

One of the trainees, Nevus, nodded steadily. The others just looked unsure. 

“Don’t worry about it. Best case scenario, you pass and press on as you were. Worst case scenario, you have two more weeks to get up to speed AND you don’t have to retake the written test. Heck, ya even get more time to study the parts of the ATO that we haven’t tested on yet.” Jon tried to reassure them, but they continued to look nervous. 

Before Jon, could say anything else, TSgt Vega knocked on the door and was let in by the Dorm Guard. He gave the trainees a once over, and then looked a question at Jon.

“Dorm Chief?”

“Sir, Trainee O’Neill reports as ordered. The trainees are ready to run, Sir.” Jon replied quickly.

“And?”

Jon cracked a small grin, “I’ll be joining them on this run, Sir.”

“So, I noticed. Well, let’s get going. I’m sure the rest of the Flight would like to get breakfast on time.”

“One moment, Sir.” Jon turned back to the hallway facing the two dorm bays. “FLIGHT, FALL IN.”

The rest of the Flight immediately lined up in the hallway, all dressed in PC gear. Most of them were grinning.

Jon smirked as he turned back to TSgt Vega, “The Flight is ready for PC, Sir.”

TSgt Vega looked at the entire Flight confused. “You’re all going to run?”

“YES, SIR,” was the unanimous response.

“I see. Well then, form up down stairs. We’ll march to the parade grounds.” He gave them all one last look and just shook his head as he left.

Jon gave them all a huge grin. “Fall in downstairs and form up by fours. FALL OUT.”

The entire Flight quickly exited the dorm to build the proper formation on the patio. A short march to the parade grounds and they were lined up on the running track. 

Jon didn’t like to lose. Any System Lord could tell you that. And losing men was out of the question. Even if they weren’t technically lost, just staying in basic for an extended period. The point was that Jon had taken responsibility for each of the trainees when he was appointed as Dorm Chief. And like it or not, he felt responsible for ensuring that each and every one of them finished with their Flight, HIS Flight. And somehow his commitment to his Flight-mates had rubbed off on them. Because, his Flight-mates were now just as committed as he was to keep these trainees with them.

So, Jon had talked to the entire Flight the night before about their Flight-mates and his need for assistance. When he had addressed the group last night, he had intended to have someone take his place and supervise the dorm clean up while he ran with the trainees. But instead, the Flight had opted to re-run the 2-mile course with those trainees as a show of moral support. The Flight had also spent the evening grilling each of the trainees that had failed the written test in an impromptu study session. 

“Alright, ready, set, go.” TSgt Vega started the stop watch as the runners started to jog. The each gathered around the trainees who had to pass today or be recycled. 

As a group, the trainees set a steady pace and worked at distracting the testing trainees by quizzing them on popular culture. Their intent was to distract them from the run. The ploy seemed to work and the group gradually increased their pace without the testing trainees noticing. 

This plan had been concocted by Skoke and Thomas who noticed that several of the failed runners tended to focus on how bad they were doing, rather than just running. Jon had approved of their plan and kept the runners back for a pep talk while Skoke and Thomas spread the plan to the rest of the Flight. 

Yet, in spite of all their efforts, Jon could tell on the seventh lap that four of the group would not make it. They were huffing so bad that Jon was concerned for their health. The other trainees noticed too and slowed the pace. The trainees may not pass, but they would be alive to tell the tale. Small trade off, but you take what you can get. 

The last two trainees seemed to be making good progress. When they reached the halfway mark on the last lap, Jon pushed them to their limits and the whole group sprinted the last 200 yards. TSgt Vega gave the first group a huge smile and congratulated the two trainees on passing the PC evaluation. He then went on to harangue them for failing in the first place and making the whole Flight go through this a second time. 

However, for the trainees who failed the retest, TSgt Vega gently shook his head and left them to mourn with their Flight-mates. The whole Flight would have one last breakfast together as a whole. After that, the four trainees would be placed in a Second WOT Flight in another squadron. 

Of course, the morning wasn’t over yet. The 9 trainees who failed the written test still had to re-take their test as well and this time the Flight couldn’t join them in their efforts.

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

After the trainees had finished cleaning the dorms, they had gathered in the day room, as had become their habit. They still hadn’t heard from TSgt Vega or the nine trainees taking the retest. Jon and Skoke had just been discussing how best to entertain the group when the shyest trainee in the lot, Carson, came forward.

“Um, Dorm Chief?” he asked quietly.

Jon encouraged him with a smile, “Yeah, Carson.”

“I, um… we…” he gestured to the back corner of the day room where a cluster of trainees were looking in their direction, “we were wondering if you knew what was going to happen this week? I mean, some of the other trainees were talking the other day… And they were saying some pretty freaky stuff about Warrior Week. They said we would be gassed with real gas, not just smoke!” He whispered the last bit, as if volume alone would make it true.

Jon continued to smile and was barely able to suppress his smirk. Barely. “Who exactly was telling you this and what exactly did this other group of trainees tell you?”

“Oh… that Fifth week group we saw on the patio last night when we were helping Duback study. We were asking about Warrior Week and they told us that we would have to practice wearing our gas mask a lot… and that they would put us in a small house with only one door and have us mask up. But that they would use real gas and if we didn’t put our mask on right, we would die.” Carson was obviously rattled about this sudden prospect of death.

Jon nodded knowingly, “Sounds about right, all except the death part. Do you really think the TI’s are going to kill us now, after we passed the half way mark? What would they tell your mother?” Jon gave Carson a reassuring smile. “I have it on good authority that NO ONE is allowed to die in basic without orders. Way, way too much paperwork. However, they are allowed to make you cry. So, they use tear gas to test the seal on your mask.” Jon’s smile took on a decidedly grim turn, “Do you remember who told you all this?”

Carson suddenly turned shy, “Um… well… it was that guy… you know… that… um, that you had words with… in, um, Second week.”

Yeah, Jon knew exactly who Carson was talking about. The bully that was so quick to put down the kids in the younger Flights. Jon’s smile turned decidedly evil as he contemplated how best to get even with the bully.

“Thanks, Carson.”

“Um… sure… anytime.” Carson retreated back to his corner to pass on the information about the tear gas. 

Jon pulled his thoughts back from his happy place with effort. He turned back to Skoke, “So, Big Guy, you make a decision yet?”

Skoke just shook his head, “I don’t know. I don’t think we have enough information. I mean… how can we decide if we can attempt to capture the flag of our enemy. Think about it, we don’t even know who or what our mission will be in the field.”

“Ah, that is where I can clarify it for you. WE don’t have any training in ANYTHING but manual labor and standing guard. So, when we are not on guard duty, we will either have NOTHING to do… which is doubtful at best… or we will be digging holes and filling sandbags… which is much more likely.” Jon gave his bunk-mate a cocky grin, “I can get us away from the perimeter and track down the enemy encampment fairly easily. We just need to have a plan for payback.”

Skoke started to shake his head, “See, that is where you lose me. How are we going to get past the guarded perimeter, in the dark, to find an enemy base, all without getting caught?”

“Easy, team effort. Now, choose, flag, honey, string, what?”

“Alright, my personal favorite has always been honey in the bunk, but swiping the flag or stringing their tents would probably get us into less trouble when we get caught.”

“Skoke, you have no faith. But if you want cautious, flag and string it will be.” Jon patted Skoke on the shoulder and then turned to the rest of the Flight. “Hey guys, listen up for a second.”

Jon waited for the Flight to turn their full attention on him. “We have been on this team building operation called ‘Basic Training’ for several weeks now. How many of you feel like we are a team?”

Jon grinned at the roaring positive response from his Flight-mates.

“Good. I wholly agree. So, I was talking to Skoke here, and we felt that we had an opportunity for a bonus team exercise during the upcoming week. We all know that the TI’s are going to be ‘evaluating’ us and all that. But they won’t be the attackers during our little war games. So… hypothetically speaking… what if a BMT Flight were to… oh, I don’t know…. Say… play a prank on the aggressors. Would you be for or against it?”

“FOR.”

“Really… even if this prank was to… again, I’m not really sure… um, lets just say the enemy flag went missing… maybe even turned up in our encampment…that wouldn’t upset any of you?”

“NO.”

“Oh, well that’s nice to know. What about if this… purely hypothetical group… also setup a string trap or tied boot laces or some such. Would that make you angry, upset, or disillusioned?”

“NO.”

“Nice…” Jon scanned the room. “So, who has hunting experience from back home?”

Several of the trainees put up their hands. Jon recognized most of them as coming from smaller towns in mid-western states. Perfect. “Excellent. How good are the rest of you at keeping a secret?” 

Their only response was a massive, group, evil grin. Yes, this would be very good. “Sweet.”

Jon heard a commotion at the dorm guard’s door. He quickly glanced about the room. “Okay, you all just saw who asked for extra ATO study help. I will personally see that you get any extra help you need, even while we are in the field. Any body else have any questions?”

The Flight went from automatic panic at the thought of discovery to relief as Jon’s words sank in. A few of the Flight sent guilty looks to their neighbors, but most just nodded at Jon as if studying the ATO was the only thing being discussed.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jon watched TSgt Vega enter the room and moved to stand behind the podium. He set a closed box at his feet. Only five of the nine trainees who went to test that morning entered the day room and took a seat. Jon gave a sad sigh. Four more trainees had been recycled. They were most likely cleaning out their lockers right now.

“Good morning. We have a lot to do today, so let’s get this weekly summary started. As you know, today we depart for the field and the start of Fourth WOT, Warrior Week. You will take the bus to a location near the field site and march the rest of the way to the location. We have been assigned to Charlie Bunker with 3 other training Flights. Once we have arrived, you will be issued additional equipment and receive site specific briefings, including the Rules of Engagement (ROE) for the exercise area. 

“After we arrive at the bunker, I will turn over command of the Flight to the bunker commander. I will then assume my place on the Exercise Evaluation Team or EET. This means that you will be following someone else’s orders. Don’t disappoint me. I will be watching you.

“Monday you are expected to complete the confidence course. The course is your chance to shine or fall flat. It should be a nice change. However, I would not recommend falling into any of the water obsticles. You will not have a hot shower available until we get back to the squadron next Saturday. 

“Monday, after the confidence course, you will receive the Anti-Terrorism briefing, UXO and IED identification briefings. Pay attention, when the 3-day exercise kicks off, several of these devices will be simulated. You will be expected to properly identify, report, and mark the devices.

“Tuesday is dedicated to NBC training. Nuclear, Biological, and Chemical threats will be covered. You will be trained EXTENSIVELY on the proper use of protective gear including your gas mask and chemical protective overgarment or CPO. MOPP Levels, alarm conditions, radio protocol, and pre-, during, and post-attack reporting. If you don’t feel quite up to perfect recall, I have your solution.” 

TSgt Vega reached down for the box. He pulled out a thick booklet about 5 inches wide by 7 inches long on a spiral binding. “This is your new bible. This is the AFMAN 10-100. The Airman’s Manual. It is printed with all the information you will need for the exercise, and much more. It will be located in one of the pockets of your CPO and is water proof and chemical resistant, making it ideal for use during a chemical environment. Study it so you know where to find the information that you will need to reference during the exercise.” 

TSgt Vega shoved the box towards Jon. Jon took the hint and began to pass out the manuals, ensuring he kept a copy for himself.

“Wednesday is the start of the 3-day field exercise. Follow your training. Listen to your bunker commander. Read your 10-100. And for heaven’s sake, THINK before you act. 

“Some time Friday or Saturday, the exercise will be terminated and you will begin the clean up phase. The sooner you complete clean up, the sooner you can march home to this lovely dorm and get a nice hot shower. 

“Any questions?” TSgt Vega finished his quick summary.

Carson was pushed up by his neighbors, “Sir, Trainee Carson reports as ordered. Will we be doing PC or drill this week, Sir?”

TSgt Vega shook his head, “No, PC and drill practice will be suspended for Warrior Week. But don’t forget anything, you will still have the Sixth WOT parades and anyone who wants to test for Para-Rescue must be able to pass the PAST test upon graduation and ANYONE who wants to test is welcome. PC will resume in Fifth WOT.”

Skoke stood up, “Sir, Trainee Skoke reports as ordered. What about Mail Call, Sir?”

TSgt Vega cocked his head to one side, considering, “I’ll leave that up to you. Just remember, anything mailed in, you carry out. All for Mail Call?” TSgt Vega made a quick mental count. “Opposed?” Again he made a quick count. “The Aye’s have it. Mail Call will be conducted during Fourth WOT.”

Jon gave a small internal moan. Knowing his luck, this would be the week that Jack coordinated to have everyone send a book or other impossibly heavy item to him. Old man, the revenge will be sweet, just you wait.

“Anyone else? Okay, one final order of business before we finish packing for the field. This morning is our last day with SrA Reglin. He will be moving on to the next baby Flight due in later this week. Make sure you thank him, before we leave today. Anything else?” TSgt Vega looked to SrA Reglin then to Jon. Jon gave him a nod. “Dorm Chief?

“To everyone who volunteered to participate in the ATO study group. Just a reminder, please be sure to pack any study materials you think you may need this week. I doubt we will have access to the BX. Thanks.” Jon almost smirked as he gave the coded message to the Flight. He did see several answering grins, not so subtly concealed in the group. 

“Right, good thinking, Dorm Chief. We don’t want a repeat of yesterday. Now, I want the A and C bags that were issued to you Friday stacked in the hallway by the door. Pack your duffle bag with your remaining gear. Don’t leave anything out, thinking you will make your bag lighter. I will personally inspect each duffle and locker before we leave.” TSgt Vega glanced around the room one last time. “You have one hour. Dismissed.”

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

The Flight spent the next hour laying out and packing their duffle bags. Jon was ready in record time and TSgt Vega quickly passed his duffle after inspecting it. Jon wasn’t surprised that TSgt Vega completely missed the additions to his bag. But then, TSgt Vega was looking for trainees to leave stuff behind to make the bag lighter, not to add stuff and make it heavier.

His task completed, Jon spent the rest of the time helping his Flight-mates properly pack their bags. Before long, the whole Flight was ready to go. The Flight dutifully carried all their mobility bags down to the squadron patio where they were loaded onto the back of a flat bed truck. The Flight then climbed onto several buses with their duffle bags. 

Jon was able to secure a seat in the middle of his bus, blending in with the rest of his Flight for the first time in weeks. Once settled, he pulled out the Airman’s Manual. He perused it in wonder. This manual had not been published yet when he had been cloned. Eyeing the sheer volume of information it contained, he was surprised that it hadn’t been developed sooner. He especially liked the critical information checklists at the back. 

Of course, it took him several minutes to figure out that the FPCONs were really just the THREATCONs with a new name. Like calling them Force Protection Conditions made the threat any less real. As if. 

Not to mention that the CWE was now called the BDO, which was being replaced by the CPO. It was a SNAFU bordering on TARFU that would inevitably become FUBAR and could only have been designed by an I D ten T.

Jon glanced around the bus and noticed Carson looking lost. “Carson, you okay?”

Carson turned to Jon, “Um… yeah. I guess I’m just nervous.”

Jon gave him an encouraging smile, “You’ll do fine. Just keep your mask handy.” He continued at Carson’s confused look. “We are due for a ‘Jumping Jack Flash’ anytime now.”

“A what?... OH!” comprehension dawned. Carson made sure his gas mask carrier was easily accessible while he was riding on the bus. 

As if on cue, TSgt Vega popped his head onto the bus and shouted, “GAS, GAS, GAS.” The trainees scrambled through the now familiar routine of pulling the gas mask on and securing it quickly. Smiling, TSgt Vega left them with their gas masks on and went to the next bus. Jon just shrugged with his gas mask on and pulled up the Airman’s Manual once more. 

The buses departed the squadron and after a short ride, the Flight was told to get off the bus with their duffle bags. Next, they were told to take off and re-pack their gas masks, and then formed up for the march. Soon, they were joined shortly by three other Flights from different squadrons; all repeating the same actions. Once the Flights were all lined up, they marched, in formation, behind the truck carrying their all the mobility bags. 

Compared to some of the other marches, hikes, and long range patrols that Jon had been on, or rather that Jack had been on; this one was a cake walk. But Jon’s Flight-mates didn’t think so. They didn’t complain. But they were starting to slow down. Texas in the summer was not the best time for a long hike with a heavy pack.

Finally, one of the smaller guys started to waver. He didn’t even seem to notice that everyone around him was at a 45 degree angle. However, TSgt Vega had been waiting for someone to drop in the heat. He deftly caught the trainee and moved him over to the side of the road. The Flight stopped. 

“Everybody, take a five minute break. Drink water and rest.” TSgt Vega motioned to the medics and they came forward quickly. After doing a quick assessment, they had the trainee cooled down with water and had him drink a special solution. The trainee’s duffle bag was tossed on to the back of the flat bed trunk. The medics walked through the other trainees, looking for signs of dehydration and heat stress. After five minutes, TSgt Vega formed them up again and they continued the march. The trainee who dropped continued the march without his duffle bag. 

The group only stopped for a quick lunch of MREs before arriving at a large bunker complex around 1300. Once there, the TI’s turned over control of their Flights to the Charlie Bunker commander, Captain Collins. 

In short order, the Flights of trainees had unloaded the truck with all the mobility bags and formed up into the four Flights in the center courtyard of the bunker complex; one Flight in each corner. 

Their new commander took the opportunity to address them, “I am Captain Collins, your Commander for the duration of this exercise. These,” he pointed to the people ranged behind him, “are my staff. They will be your instructors and administrators this week. At the start of the 3-day exercise they will become EET.

“Each of your Flights will be responsible for one of four shifts to guard and protect this bunker.” He turned to Jon’s Flight in a line up. “You are Alpha Flight and will man the sentry posts from 0000 hours to 0600 hours.” He turned to the next Flight, “Bravo Flight will post from 0600 to 1200.” He turned to the two remaining Flights, “Charlie Flight will post from 1200 to 1800 hours and Delta Flight will post from 1800 to 2400 hours. These postings will begin tonight at 2400 hours.

“Your existing Flight trainee leadership will report directly to the Command Post or CP. My staff will go over the details in another briefing. 

“For the duration of this exercise, you will NOT give a reporting statement unless you are directed to report to me. You will NOT salute any officer. This is a field exercise and we will simulate field conditions, including suspension of some customs and courtesies. 

“Your bunk houses are located one per wall. Each is marked according to your shift designation. Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, and Delta. You are now dismissed to place your mobility gear into your bunk houses. Dorm Chiefs will bunk in the command center. Element Leaders will bunk at either end of the bunk house. Dismissed.”

Jon quickly directed his Flight to the pile of mobility bags and had them pull all the ones marked with their Flight number, 1342, and take them into the bunk house. They sorted the other Flights’ bags as they pulled theirs and neatly stacked them in piles by Flight number. Soon each of the other Flights had adopted their sorting technique. 

Once the mobility bags were stored in the bunk house, Jon had his Flight gather their individual bags and stow them at the end of their assigned bunks. Skoke offered to help him carry his bags over to the Command Post. 

As they entered the CP building, an instructor directed them to some individual rooms labeled A, B, C, and D. Jon quickly scanned the A or Alpha room and set his bags neatly in one corner. The room was barely big enough for his bunk and bags. But it did contain a small window. Jon nudged Skoke and pointed at the window, before turning to leave.

They were both grinning as they returned to the CP instructor. “Alpha Flight is ready for further instructions, Sir.”

The instructor turned towards them, “And you are?”

“Trainee O’Neill, Dorm Chief for Flight 1342 assigned to Charlie Bunker as Alpha Flight. This is one of my Element Leaders, Trainee Skoke, Sir.”

The instructor nodded and jotted his name down before replying, “Return to your Flight. I’ll have one of the instructors over in a minute.”

“Yes, Sir.” Jon and his bunk mate turned a left the CP. 

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

The instructor, SSgt Tate, arrived shortly after Jon and Skoke returned to Bunk House Alpha. He escorted the Flight through the entire bunker complex, showing them the layout and the location of each of the 8 defensive fighting positions (DFP). He also showed them the various locations of the shelters, the contamination control area (CCA), and the casualty collection point (CCP). 

SSgt Tate spent several minutes briefing them outside the Medical Treatment Facility discussing ‘real’ versus ‘exercise’ injuries. Real injuries would immediately terminate the exercise and the trainee would immediately go to the medical treatment facility. Exercise injuries would receive self aid and buddy care depending on the exercise scenario and be transported to the CCP when possible, again depending on the exercise scenario. 

The sergeant stopped them outside the supply office. “This exercise will be as realistic as possible. To this end you will be issued full MILES gear, radios, a voice emitter, blanks, and a blank firing adapter for your M-16. Dorm Chief?” SSgt Tate addressed the Flight.

“Here, Sir,” Jon replied.

“Dorm Chief, line ‘em up for equipment issue.”

“Yes, Sir.” Jon turned to the Flight. “FALL IN.” He waited until the Flight was in formation. “Enter by columns, MARCH.”

The Flight filed into the supply office. One by one they were each issued a set of MILES gear, including a Kevlar helmet with a sensor band and a sensor harness. They also received a laser attachment and blank adaptor for the M-16, a small short range radio with gas mask voice emitter, and six magazines of blank rounds. Jon was the last to collect his gear. Nearly an hour later, his Flight was decked out for Warrior Week.

Next, SSgt Tate walked them through the Force Protection Conditions (FPCON). “So, starting tonight the bunker will move to FPCON Bravo. FPCON Bravo means that an attack is possible. Sometime on Wednesday the 3-day exercise will kick off and we will move to FPCON Charlie. Charlie means that an attack in the immediate area is probable. Finally, once the attacks start, we will move to FPCON Delta. Delta means that an attack is imminent or occurring. Any questions?... Alright, break for dinner. Dorm Chief, the field kitchen is to the left of the CP. Meet back here in one hour. Dismissed.”

Jon motioned for the Flight to gather around. “You all hanging in there?” he asked.

Ruso shook his head, “Barely. My head is stuffed. Information overload, you know!”

Jon laughed, “It’ll only get worse from here. Alright, let’s get chow. We are all going to be up at 2400 hours for our first shift on sentry duty. Report to your Element Leader. Dismissed for chow.” The Flight shuffled off to the dining facility. This was the first time they were allowed to enter the dining facility without the aid of a formation.

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

After dinner, the Flight was once again instructed by SSgt Tate. This time he covered alarms and signals and what they mean. He followed that class with the Rules of Engagement or ROE for the exercise.

“Okay, this is just an exercise. Please keep that in mind as we work through the various field scenarios that will be presented over the next few days. Safety is our number one concern. Any single one of you can call an exercise termination if you find that safety is being violated. The point of Warrior Week is to teach you how to operate and survive in a hostile field environment.

“To this end, you will not be asked to do anything you have not already been trained to do. Your sole mission is to defend this bunker complex. The exercise scenario will not include any non-combatants. So, anyone you encounter can be considered a combatant. You will challenge anyone approaching your position and report any suspicious activities in your area. Page 95 in your Airman’s Manual outlines the proper way to report an attack or suspicious activities using a SALUTE report. Page 84 in your Airman’s Manual outlines proper security procedures and how to challenge intruders.”

Jon interrupted the sergeant before he could continue, “Sir, what about prisoners?“

“Prisoners?” SSgt Tate looked startled by the question.

“Yes, Sir. When we take prisoners, what is the protocol you want us to follow?”

“When…” SSgt Tate pulled out his own tattered copy of the Airman’s Manual and flipped to a tabbed page. “Yes… well, IF you should come across some of the enemy who want surrender, then follow the protocol on page 89.” He put his Airman’s Manual away, “Now, where was I… oh yes, challenging. Throughout the exercise you will use all three ways to challenge potential intruders; Sign-Countersign, Chemical Code, and Duress words. Page 88 outlines how each of these is used. The current codes and words will be posted in the CP each morning and relayed to you by your Dorm Chief and Element Leaders. 

“Okay, exercise guidelines. All rocket and air attacks are to be assumed as chemical attacks. All ground attacks are considered conventional attacks. This means that you will seek shelter and assume MOPP 4, i.e. gas mask and chem-suit, for any air strike or rocket attack. Next, you will wait for the all clear from the CP. We will go into the MOPP levels in more detail on Tuesday.

“All aggressors will be wearing the desert uniform. All EET will be wearing BDU’s with a red ball cap. No non-combatants will be allowed in the play area. If you are not sure, challenge. 

“The entire area, with only two exceptions, is within the play area. You are expected to be alert regardless of where you are and prepared to respond accordingly. The exceptions are the real world medical treatment facility and the morgue. However, don’t think that being dead is easy. All trainees who are ‘killed’ and shipped to the morgue are expected to fill sand bags for the duration of their stay, even if it is their normal sleep cycle. You will stay ‘dead’ for a minimum of 8 very long hours. 

“Alright, any questions so far?” SSgt Tate asked.

Jon glanced around and then raised his hand, “Sir, obviously we can’t do much to defend against a rocket or air attack, but do we have any Intel on the capabilities or limitations of the ground forces? Staging area? Training and tactics? Weapons used? Or the average size of the ground forces?”

Again, the sergeant looked at a loss. Jon almost grinned. He could tell that the prior trainees had never asked those kinds of questions before. With luck the good sergeant would fumble and give away aggressors guidelines and limitations.

“Ah… let me see…” SSgt Tate stammered. “Generally, the attacking forces have been small, 10 or less in each group. Staging from the abandoned Echo Bunker. Standard small arms, no hand-held rockets or such. You should be able to defend against most attacks if you are alert and ready for them.”

“So we have a location on their staging area?” Jon asked.

SSgt Tate seemed to realize that he gave some vital information away, “Um… yes, but they don’t always come from that direction. You should be prepared for attack from all directions.”

Jon smiled, “Of course, Sir.” He would bet money that the Echo bunker was marked on a map in the CP. And if they were staging out of it, then the ‘enemy’ would be very easy to find. So far, the good sergeant had not listed that the trainees could not counter attack the enemy staging area. Only that they had to defend the bunker. Jon began to formulate a plan that would allow them to do both within the guidelines given.

SSgt Tate eyed Jon suspiciously, “Yes, the final guideline for this exercise is that Capt. Collins will be the only staff member who will not become EET at the start of the 3-day exercise. So, make sure you pay close attention to these briefings. You will be expected to secure this bunker against attack starting Wednesday.”

“YES, SIR.”

“Next up, Radio communication. If you will all please pull out your Airman’s Manual. Turn to page 197. When using a radio in the field you will use several key phrases, called ProWords. Hollywood has made several of these words common knowledge, like ‘say again’ and ‘out.’ Make sure you read the real meanings behind these ProWords and understand them. You will be using them for this exercise. On page 196, is the military phonetic alphabet. If you have to spell anything out, use this alphabet and not a civilian counterpart. 

“Finally, radio discipline and Operational Security or OPSEC. Think before you say anything over the radio. Use the established code words given by the CP for specific locations or actions. Be brief. Use call signs and NEVER use names or ranks. Occasionally, conduct a radio check, you don’t want to find out that your battery ran out just when you need to make a SALUTE report. Always assume that the enemy is listening in to each and every radio transmission. 

“Your Dorm Chief will assign you to a specific posting tonight. Each post comes with a specific call sign. Know your call sign and the call signs of everyone you may need to contact. 

“Now, for the most basic of the radio problems. First, make sure your radio is on the correct channel. Charlie bunker uses channel 3. Check your radio now and make sure it is set to channel 3. If you are instructed to go to the alternate frequency, change to channel 7. But only when instructed by the CP. 

“Second, make sure you recharge your radio battery during your sleep cycle. A four-hour charge will last the whole day. Recharging stations are located in your bunk houses. 

“Third and final issue with radios, they won’t work unless they are ON. If your radio is strangely silent throughout the day, check to see if you remembered to turn it on. 

“Okay, last chance for questions tonight.” SSgt Tate looked around the Flight. When no one asked a question, he continued, “Alright, you are dismissed until 2300 hours for a post briefing. Dorm Chief, you will need to establish a schedule and assign everyone a posting. The CP will give you the guidelines. Dismissed.”

Jon turned to his Flight before they could go anywhere, “Just a second, guys.” He waited until he had their full attention. “I would strongly recommend that everyone get some sleep. I will conduct the post briefing at the bunk house at 2300 hours. Charge your radios and keep your gear handy. Sleep with your boots on. I need the Element Leaders with me. Payton, you are in charge until the Element Leaders get back. Dismissed.” 

Jon had the Element Leaders follow him to the CP to help make the schedule. The CP gave them very flexible guidelines. Two people per defensive fighting position (DFP). Eight DFP’s throughout the compound. Two teams of four were to be assigned Post Attack Reconnaissance duty (PAR). Two teams of four were to be assigned Casualty Recovery Teams (CRT). Two people assigned to the CP. Anyone else could be assigned as needed.

In the case of Jon’s Flight of 42, that left eight people that could be assigned anywhere as needed. Grinning, Jon submitted his final schedule with two additional teams; a Fire Team and a Manpower Team. They had also decided to use movie hero dog names for call signs. Jon couldn’t wait to call Rin Tin Tin and Snoopy over the air.

Jon dismissed his Element Leaders to return to the bunk house and rest. Taking his own advice, he instructed the CP to wake him at 2230 hours and lay down to catch a few hours of sleep. 

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

That night, the CP woke Jon promptly at 2230. Jon made a quick rest stop then headed over to the bunk house. Unfortunately, SSgt Tate made it to the bunk house first. Jon nodded in greeting to the instructor before waking his Flight-mates. 

“Up and at ‘em. You got five minutes till briefing.” Jon roused the exhausted trainees from their cots as quickly as he could. Several he had to shake several times to get them going. 

Before long the whole sleepy group was assembled. “Okay, guys. Here is the roster for postings tonight. Make sure you check your radios and memorize the call signs.” Jon passed the roster around. 

“Now, a few last things to remember. First, be vigilant. Second, check in. I want an hourly check in with the CP. This lets us know that you are still alive and kicking out there. 

“Third, do not to leave your post until someone relieves you. I’ll be roving, so if you should need to make a latrine run, call for Benji, that’s me, to rendezvous with you. 

“Fourth, don’t forget your Airman’s Manual. Fifth, USE your Airman’s Manual. It outlines the procedures you need to use when someone outside approaches your post. You can practice on me tonight and tomorrow. 

“Sixth, call signs. As you already know, I’ll be going by Benji. All the DFP’s are designated Dino 1 through 8. CP is Dynomutt. PAR Team 1 is Scooby. PAR Team 2 is Scrappy. CRT 1 is Lassie. CRT 2 is Rin Tin Tin. Fire Team is Snoopy. Finally, Manpower Team is Astro. Key call signs to remember now, yourself, Dynomutt, and Benji. Dynomutt to check in each hour. Benji if you need to take a leak. I’ll be coming around and helping you memorize the rest throughout the shift.

”Finally, sign/countersign, chem. code, and duress words. Challenge word is ‘Monkey’ and response is ‘Diamond’. Chem. Code is 8. And the duress word is ‘Pumpkin.’ Again, Monkey-Diamond, Eight, and Pumpkin. These will change every day, so make sure you know them before you post. 

“CP members will be briefed by the instructor in CP. I need to meet with the PAR, CRT, Fire, and Manpower Teams before you post. The rest of you, arm up and head over to your station.” Jon looked around trying to think of anything else. He turned to SSgt Tate, “You have anything to add, Sir?”

SSgt Tate stood doing the fish mouth thing before he finally, shook his head, “No, Dorm Chief. I think you covered it all.” He then gave Jon a critical look before motioning the Flight on to their posts. 

“Alright, get out of here, you mugs. Post and I’ll be around in a bit.” Jon motioned the remaining trainees to move off to one side to let the others exit the bunk house.

”Okee-dokey, PAR teams… Tonight and tomorrow, I want you two to train together. Starting Wednesday, PAR 1 will be posted here in the bunk house and PAR 2 will be posted at the CCP.” 

Jon walked over to the corner of the bunk house and motioned the others to follow him. He glanced around until he found a huge foot locker marked ‘PAR Kit.’ “This is your kit. Inside you will find the user’s manual. Read through it carefully. SSgt Tate will be happy to answer any questions you may have, but read the manual first. 

“Your job is to clear the area after an attack, find UXO’s, find casualties, and determine if a chemical agent was used during the attack. Read, train, follow the maps included, and ask questions now. 

“Manpower Team, if we lose people on the PAR Team, you will be expected to back fill. So tonight, I want you to train with the PAR Teams. Tomorrow, you will train with the CRT’s. Any questions on the PAR Team?” Jon looked around. Several of his Flight-mates looked half asleep. But most were paying close attention. Those trainees shook their head.

“Next, the CRT’s.” Jon pulled away from the PAR Team Kit and went over to the opposite corner. Here he sought out another foot locker. This one labeled ‘Bunker-SABC.’ “Casualty Recovery Teams, like the PAR Teams, I want you to train together tonight and tomorrow. This is your kit. CRT 1 will be posted here in the bunk house. CRT 2 will be posted in the CCP. 

“When the PAR Teams find casualties, they will call for you to come and recover them. Practice litter-carry techniques and commands. Study the Self Aid and Buddy Care steps in the ATO and the Airman’s Manual. The Manpower Team will backfill if you lose anyone on the team. 

“Don’t be afraid to reference your Airman’s Manual while trying to treat a casualty. Better to do it right, then to accidentally ‘kill’ a team-mate. This manual,” Jon pointed to the SABC kit manual, “will give you specific instructions on your duties. Again, I’m sure SSgt Tate would be more than willing to answer any of your questions. Now, any questions for me about the CRT?” Again, Jon received a sea of shaking heads.

“Well, holy guacamole, who’s that leave us with?”

“Da Fire Team, Dorm Chief,” was Ruso’s sarcastic reply.

“Oy… Fire Team, let’s take this outside and get out of their hair.” Jon pointed to the PAR and CRT teams already breaking up into their groups to go over their manuals. Jon hid his grin as SSgt Tate was waylaid by one of the PAR Team members with a question and a map.

Once outside, Jon turned to face the bunk house door. “Okay, guys, let me make this quick. You are on ATO Study detail, masquerading as a Fire Team. You have no set post. Make it a habit to never be in the same place twice. Walk around a lot, etc, etc. I will recon the enemy stronghold as soon as possible. Hopefully, later tonight. In the mean time, I want you guys to train as a fire team and practice ‘sneak and peek’ techniques…” 

Jon saw SSgt Tate evade another question and make his way out of the bunk house. “…now, as a Fire Team, your primary job will be to assist the DFP’s in repelling an enemy attack. So, remember what I said about going over this entire bunker facility. You need to know it like the back of your hand. If you hear Dino 4 call in a SALUTE report, you need to copy the report and head over to Dino 4’s location.” Jon acknowledged SSgt Tate as he approached. “SSgt Tate, is there anything else they should know?”

Once again, SSgt Tate looked off guard, “Um… yes, make maximum use of the cover available. Because you will be moving towards the fighting, you will be more visible and vulnerable to enemy fire. If need be, identify locations where you can create a firing position and submit it to the commander. Ah… that should do it.”

Jon gave SSgt Tate a quick nod before continuing, “Alright, get to it. Don’t forget to radio in. CP won’t know where you guys are, so that makes the radio check in all that more important. Dismissed.” The Fire Team turned away and started walking away from SSgt Tate talking quietly. 

“Dorm Chief.”

Jon stopped mid turn and winced internally. Externally, he turned a neutral smile to the instructor. “Yes, Sir?”

“The commander would like to speak with you in the CP.” SSgt Tate briskly delivered his message then turned back to the bunk house.

“I guess that would be all then, Sir… Yes, Trainee O’Neill, that is all. Dismissed,” Jon whispered to himself as he turned towards the CP.

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

After a quick briefing from Capt. Collins, Jon picked up and escorted several of the EET inspectors around the bunker complex to see where his teams were posted. 

The rest of the shift the Flight was closely observed by the EET inspectors. The EET didn’t interfere with the teams when they were training, but the moment they stopped. They would quiz the Flight members mercilessly. 

Despite this constant harassment, the shift went smoothly. Each position promptly reported in each hour and the training went smoothly for both the PAR teams and the CRTs.

Jon wandered from post to post throughout the night taking coffee and water to each position. He assisted the various teams to get a feel for their duties and how best to execute them. 

Because of the EET, Jon was unable to get away to scout the surrounding woods or the enemy positions. And, with Jon’s coaching, his Flight had not faltered in their vigilance or diligence. By 0600 hours, the entire Flight was more than ready for the shift change. 

The tired group ate a quick breakfast and reported in at 0700 hours on Monday for the short march to the confidence course with one of other Flights. Jon and his Flight-mates were able to successfully navigate the course with only a few falling into the water obstacles. 

The confidence course was set up to allow the trainees to release some of their pent up frustrations without the TI’s constantly harassing them. It also allowed the Flight member to yell and cheer their Flight-mates on, building up unit cohesion. Ultimately, the leisurely pace of the confidence course was a nice change from the previous weeks at basic. The obstacles, while physically challenging, were more mental challenges than physical ones. Jon’s Flight was rejuvenated by the positive team building experience that the confidence course provided.

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

After a quick lunch back at the bunker, SSgt Tate was replaced by TSgt Simon. TSgt Simon really enjoyed his chosen profession and it showed in his teaching. He spent the next few hours walking the Flight through the Anti-Terrorism training, Un-Exploded Ordinance (UXO) identification, reporting, and marking procedures, and Improvised Explosive Device (IED) identification and reporting procedures. He spent extra time explaining how passive defense worked to their advantage and how to expand on existing passive defensive structures like expedient hardening, camouflage and concealment, and blackout procedures.

Finally, TSgt Simon spent the time to explain the security procedures that SSgt Tate had glossed over the previous day. He explained their duties and responsibilities as sentries, how to challenge intruders, how to handle prisoners and defectors, and the best way to use challenge signs and passwords. He even took the time to explain the SALUTE report and what the acronym stood for.

TSgt Simon grinned at the trainees lined up before him, “Come on. Surely, one of you knows what SALUTE stands for. Didn’t any of you read the 10-100.” As one, the Flight turned to look at Jon.

“What?” Jon replied. “Alright, I just wanted to give the rest of you a chance.” Jon turned back to TSgt Simon. “Time, Location, Equipment, Size, Unit, Activity.”

TSgt Simon scrunched up his face as he tried to put the response in proper order. Finally, he replied, “Yes, but in acronym order that is Size, Activity, Location, Unit, Time, and Equipment.”

Ruso put his hand up, “How’s we supposed to know the unit? It’s not like we can just ask them.”

TSgt Simon chuckled, “They just might display a unit banner or markings on their vehicles or uniforms. But if you don’t know, you can always just state ‘unknown unit.’ Any other questions?” The rest of the Flight shook their head. “Alright, dismissed until you report for sentry duty.” TSgt Simon pulled Jon aside, “Dorm Chief, your Flight’s mail is ready for pick-up at the CP. You might want to hand it out before they bunk down for the evening.

Jon gave a tired, “Yes, Sir,” before turning towards the CP to pick up the mail. Hey, at least I don’t have to do the punishments this week. With that last thought, Jon disappeared into the CP building.

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

Jon was on his tenth circuit of the DFP’s. Only a few hours or so left of their sentry shift and Jon had finally lost his EET tag along. As he made this circuit, he was checking in with each of his Flight-mates. They all seemed to be wired and ready for more than the classroom briefings they had received. It was probably the lack of sleep and the near overdose of caffeine used to keep them up.

After he checked this last DFP, number 8, Jon planned on checking out Echo Bunker. Jon had guessed correctly. The CP had detailed maps of the surrounding area, including the neighboring bunker complexes. Each complex was laid out in exactly the same way. This made it easier for Jon to gather Intel, because he could freely move through an exact replica of the enemy staging area, i.e. his own bunker. He had passed that tasty tidbit to the Fire Team after he discovered it.

Jon approached DFP 8. Payton and Jones were carefully scanning the tree line for any sign of movement. He cleared his throat and Payton turned in his direction, weapon ready. “Halt!” Jon dutifully came to a stop. “Who goes there?”

Jon grinned at the cliché phrase, “Trainee O’Neill, Flight 1342, Alpha Flight.” He watched in approval as Jones continued to scan the trees, but was acutely aware of what his partner was doing.

“Advance to be recognized!” Payton continued.

Jon stepped forward into the light. Payton nodded in recognition. “Blue.”

“Butterflies,” Jon replied with the proper countersign.

Only when Jon had given the proper countersign did Payton drop his weapon. “So, what’s up, Dorm Chief?” 

“Nothing. All’s quiet on the western front… or some such. You guys see anything?”

“Nope. Not a peep,” Payton replied.

“Good, good. I finally lost my shadow. So, I figured I would mosey over and check out the competition. Or at least find the best path for a posse.”

Jon turned walked to the front of their DFP. He shed most of his gear and helmet and stowed it in a shadow out of sight. His Flight-mates watched, fascinated as he used dirt to darken his face and hands. 

Jon turned back one final time and gave them a cheeky grin, “Don’t shoot me. Be back in 30.” Then without a backward glance, he slid into the shadows between the trees.

God, I missed this. Jon ghosted between the trees from shadow to shadow senses alert to any noise or movement. Freely tapping into his memories and finding peace in the quiet of the woods. Almost like finding his center. This is what he was. This is where he felt at peace with himself. This is where he belonged; sliding through the shadows with a mission to complete. 

All too soon, Jon found the Echo Bunker complex. Unlike his bunker, there were no sentries posted. He grinned as he slid into the complex to investigate. The first bunk house was filled with PJ trainees, probably still in their indoctrination training phase. Not even these trainees were up at 0300. 

Jon walked around the complex and found that even the CP was dark and quiet. He slid inside and examined the plans so casually spread across the walls. He almost laughed out loud at the blatant plans to ‘attack’ the various surrounding bunkers. 

After committing the plans to memory, Jon couldn’t help himself. He pulled out his little bottle of natural red dye and dumped it in the coffee maker’s reservoir.

Jon circled the bunker complex. He wanted to make sure it was exactly like the Charlie Bunker complex. And he found that it was basically the same. One bunk house was filled with PJ trainees. The other three were filled with the PJ instructors and the EET members who were bunking in the play area, like TSgt Vega. The commander of the ‘hostile’ forces was in the CP building using the same room that Capt. Collins used at Charlie Bunker. 

Jon grinned at the totally unguarded flag of the enemy. It proudly showed the patch and motto of the ‘Devil Dogs.’ The cogs were already turning on an appropriate replacement flag. 

Jon made one last stop at the field kitchen. He easily picked the lock on the refrigerator and took a peek inside. Carter isn’t the only one with ‘questionable’ skills. Ah ha! Just as I suspected, cake. 

He carefully purloined the best 3 pieces of chocolate cake and carefully wrapped them up for the walk back. After removing all traces of his presence and disposing of the dye bottle in the kitchen trash, Jon slid back out of the complex with no one the wiser.

All too soon, Jon was back within sight of Charlie Bunker. He carefully made his way back around to DFP 8. He watched with approval as Payton and Jones continuously watched the tree line. He crept up to the tree line and stepped out into the open. Before long, Jones spotted him leaning casually against the trees.

“Halt! Who goes there?” Jones asked, already knowing the answer.

“Trainee O’Neill, Flight 1342, Alpha Flight,” Jon replied casually.

“Approach to be recognized.” 

Jon walked forward grinning.

“Blue.”

“Butterflies.”

“Damn. Where the hell did you come from? I didn’t see nothing until you were leaned up against that tree.” Jones was a little bit spooked by his sudden appearance.

“I just pulled off my cloak of invisibility and poof. Ta-da.”

“Right, I’ll believe that as soon as I see your wand, Harry,” Jones was no longer spooked and had started to grin.

“Well, if I must,” Jon pulled out his bag and pointed a finger at it, “Ala-ka-zam…” Jon then pulled out the carefully wrapped pieces of cake. “Is that good enough for you, Ron?”

“Oh, yeah,” Jones snagged one of the pieces of cake. “Hey, this is good,” he commented around a mouth full of cake.

“Only da best for me men,” Jon blustered between mouthfuls of cake.

“Benji, Dynomutt,” their radios crackled to life.

Jon swallowed his bite, “Go ahead, Dynomutt.”

“You are requested to rendezvous with a ghost at Lassie’s location,” the command post instructed.

“Copy, Benji, out,” Jon replied. Lassie was the call sign for CRT 1 and a ghost was the code name for the EET members. Jon quickly finished his piece of cake and finished wiping the dirt from his face and hands. He gave the two sentries a casual wave, “See ya, Dino 8.”

“Later, Dorm Chief.”

Jon quickly made his way to the bunk house where his CRT 1 would stage was assigned. As he entered the bunk house he immediately noticed the EET member, TSgt Vega. He gave his Flight-mates a casual wave and went over the TI. 

“Sir, you requested a rendezvous?”

TSgt Vega smiled in welcome, “Yes, I did Dorm Chief. Walk with me.” TSgt Vega immediately turned and started for the nearest exit. Jon followed in his wake.

“Dorm Chief, I was just looking over your posting schedule and had a few questions,” TSgt Vega started.

Jon glanced at the TI warily, “Sure, Sir. What do you want to know?”

“First, you have two extra teams, why?”

Jon carefully considered his answer. “Well, Sir, we had more people than postings. They can backfill for the PAR team or the CRT. In fact, when we lose a trainee during the exercise, either to injury or simulated death, they will back fill the other postings. I noticed that there was no Fire Team assigned and created one. As for the rest, well… Manpower really says it all.”

TSgt Vega carefully considered Jon’s answer. It really just presented more questions than answers. Hollywood had touched on Fire Teams rarely and as yet had never glorified the Manpower Team. So how did this kid know about them? And of course, none of this fitted with TSgt Vega’s suspicions about Jon’s past. Finally, he sighed. “It occurs to me, O’Neill, that I don’t really know all that much about your background.”

Jon was instantly on alert. He reviewed his answers to see what might have triggered this line of questioning. He couldn’t detect any red flags. So, what had prompted that comment. Jon wasn’t quite ready to drop his shielding yet. He was too tired to guarantee control. “Ah, Sir?” 

But TSgt Vega wasn’t ready to share his findings or to question Jon further, “Don’t worry about it, O’Neill. Now, show me your teams.”

Jon eyed TSgt Vega warily, “Yes, Sir.” He directed the TI back into the bunk house. “PAR 1 and CRT 1 are stationed here…”

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

The exhausted Flight was relieved by Bravo Flight on time. They once again made quick work of breakfast to make it to their first briefing at 0700. Today was the Chemical, Biological, and Nuclear Defense training. Few of the trainees had enough energy left to worry about the impending gas chamber.

TSgt Simon was back again as their instructor. He showed a level of patience hereto unknown to the trainees as he walked the Alpha and Charlie Flights through the Chemical Protective Overgarment (CPO), the Mission Oriented Protective Postures (MOPP levels), and contamination avoidance.

“…Alright, now that you all have proven to me that you can successfully wear the CPO, what is the difference between MOPP 3 and MOPP 4?”

“Ah, Sir… in MOPP 4 we wear everything, but MOPP 3 we wear everything but the gloves,” Seymour answered.

“Correct, but do you know why?” TSgt Simon asked.

The Flight replied with dumb looks.

“Because, once in a while, there will be an increased threat of an NBC attack with little or no warning. But not very often. Our usual procedure is to progress from MOPP 0 to 2 to 4 then back to 2 for clean areas. Now for the good news, because of the current weather conditions, Capt. Collins has authorized the Mask and Gloves Only MOPP option. So you will simulate, MOPP 2 with BDU sleeves down and when directed go to MOPP 4 with only the glove inserts, gloves, and gas mask.” TSgt Simon grinned at the trainees. They were all too tired to do more than smile at the welcome news.

Of course this good news was off-set by the next lesson, the gas chamber. The trainees were told to mask up and then dutifully crammed into a small hut with no windows. Into this small enclosed area, the instructors tossed several tear gas canisters. All the trainees had to do was count to ten and then exit the building in an orderly manner. 

Sounds simple enough until you mix in nearly 100 overly tired trainees. Inevitably, at least one of the trainees panics. In Jon’s Flight, it was the Carson kid. 

Luckily, Jon and Skoke noticed that he was a bit panicky before he put his mask on and entered the building. When he started to freak, Skoke pinned his arms and Jon gently led them out of the building. Once outside, Carson immediately calmed down and didn’t even try to remove his mask before he was told.

For the rest of the morning, TSgt Simon talked about the various chemical biological agents that have been developed into weapons. He explained their symptoms, treatment, and antidotes. Finally, as the most dedicated of the trainees was about to drop, he explained the Contamination Control Area (CCA). Its purpose, location, and a basic description of how the contamination was removed without injuring the member.

TSgt Simon then released them for a late lunch and their much needed sleep cycle. Jon made sure to check for mail, before retiring to bed himself. He decided that the post briefing was a better time to hand it out.

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

“Snoopy, Benji,” Jon called on the radio. They had been on shift for almost 30 minutes. The base had gone into FPCON Charlie during the last shift. Jon knew that the base would be upgraded to FPCON Delta soon. Before that happened, he needed to talk to his Fire Team.

“Go ahead, Benji.”

“Request rendezvous at Dino 6. Copy.”

“Copy. Rendezvous at Dino 6. Snoopy out.”

Jon worked his way over to Dino 6. They weren’t challenging him tonight. The DFP’s had all the practice they would get. Sometime tonight the games would really begin.

“Hey, Dorm Chief,” Sanders greeted.

“Howdy, campers. Anything yet?” Jon asked.

Sanders’ partner, Nelson, just shook his head. 

“Sweet.” Jon turned as he heard the Fire Team approach. “Let’s take a walk.” Jon reached for his radio, “Dynomutt, Benji.”

“Go ahead, Benji.”

“Snoopy and Benji will be out of the back yard. Response is within 3 Mikes. Copy.”

Jon’s radio crackled, “Copy. Snoopy and Benji are out of the back yard but within 3 Mikes. Dynomutt, out.”

Jon turned back to his Fire Team. “Alright, boys, its time to learn some tricks of the trade.” 

Jon led the Fire Team a short distance into the surrounding woods. He turned down his radio and motioned the others to do the same. “Circle up. Okay, you can’t do anything about your MILES sensors. To mess with them is forbidden. The EET will have a ‘God gun.’ It is a sonic toy that is guaranteed to trip your sensors, unless you have disabled them. So, you are stuck being vulnerable to enemy fire. 

“But there is no rule about futzing with the lasers.” Jon pulled up his rifle. He carefully pointed it away from the group. “The laser is triggered by an impact. Normally, it will ‘shoot’ when you fire a blank round. However, if you tap the back of the laser hard enough, like this, it will also fire. This essentially lets you shoot when you are out of rounds, or better yet, when you don’t want the noise of the rifle to give your position away. 

“Don’t get caught doing it. But it will significantly extend your ammunition. I also want to put one of you up a tree to snipe the aggressors from behind. Again, wait for the aggressors to fire on the bunker then start picking them off. No noise to expose you and the fire from the bunker will cover your kills.”

“That really works?” Skoke asked.

Jon gave his bunk mate a grin, “Of course. Have I been wrong yet?”

Skoke gave him a strange look, “No. And frankly, that concerns me. But, I’ll accept your word that this will work too. Now, show us again how hard to tap.”

Jon went through the demonstration again. He coached each of the Fire Team members through doing it themselves until they felt comfortable with the procedure. He checked his watch. “Time to check in.” Jon reached for his radio again, “Benji with a radio check.”

He waited and soon the radio cackled to life, “Read you loud and clear, Benji.”

Skoke nodded, “Snoopy with a radio check.”

Again the radio responded, “Read you loud and clear, Snoopy.”

Jon listened to the radio as each post called in. He counted and found that all his teams had reported in. Finally, the last call came through, “Dynomutt with a radio check.”

Jon replied, “Read you loud and clear, Dynomutt.” 

Jon turned back to the Fire Team. “The exercise will start in earnest in the next hour. Before that happens, I want to show you the path to Echo bunker. We won’t execute the operation tonight. We will be too busy.”

“Are we going to go tomorrow?” Smith asked. He was one of his hunters from North Dakota.

“No. I think it would be best to wait until the last night of the exercise. Things will start to wind down and we should be able to sneak off,” Jon replied. “Now, everyone turn off your radios. I’ll keep mine on minimal volume.”

Everyone complied and then followed Jon as he led the way through the woods. The trainees took note of the well used path leading up to the bunker and the many paths that branched off of it. Jon motioned them off the path and up a small hill. They soon could see the entire bunker complex laid out before them. 

Jon whispered, “The layout is almost exactly the same as our bunker. Alpha bunk house has the PJ trainees in it. This will be the main target. Bravo bunk house has the PJ instructors in it. This will be a secondary target, but use EXTREME caution. They are a lot more alert than the trainees. If we can’t get them, then we will skip that target. 

“Charlie and Delta bunk houses have the EET members in them. This is NOT a target. The CP and Flag Poles are our final targets. I’ll take the CP. They will be awake and directing their aggressors for that shift, so it will be harder to complete all the assigned tasks. 

“The flag pole, as you can see, is completely unguarded. Our final target will be to replace the ‘Devil Dogs’ with something highly inappropriate. Any questions?”

The Fire Team shook their heads. Jon nodded and motioned them to head back to Charlie bunker. 

The group was almost back to the bunker when Jon heard the radio click. He increased the volume. “Benji, Dynomutt.”

“Go ahead, Dynomutt.”

“Ghost requests a rendezvous at Dino 6.Over,”

Jon smirked, “Wilco. Benji, out.” Jon turned to the others, “If anyone asks, we were patrolling the bunker from the outside to determine the most likely approaches of attack and the best way to defend against them. Keep doing that now, so you can answer their questions. I’ll head in.” The Fire Team nodded and turned away from the bunker to start a slow circle around the complex.

As Jon approached the DFP he made sure to make extra noise. He carefully emerged from the trees with his hands away from his weapon. 

“Halt!” Jon stopped. “Who goes there?”

“Trainee O’Neill, Flight 1342, Alpha Flight,” Jon replied.

“Approached to be recognized.”

Jon approached the DFP. He heard the challenge, “Fluffy.”

Jon couldn’t contain his smile as he gave the countersign, “Bunnies.”

Only after he had given the proper countersign did he finally see Sanders’ head pop up. “Who the hell picks these challenge words anyway?” was his only greeting.

Jon grinned in return, “Someone with way too much time on their hands,” he replied. “You have a ghost for me?”

“Yeah.” Sanders jerked his hand towards the back of the DFP. 

Jon carefully made his way around to the back. There casually waiting for him was Teal’c. 

Jon stopped in surprise. “Whoa! Murray? Is that really you?” Jon asked, overly excited to see his old friend.

“Indeed, O’Neill. It is I.” Teal’c’s deep base seemed to fill the whole area. Jon felt gratified to see the hint of a smile at the edges of his lips.

“Wow!... I mean… Wow!... Aren’t you a bit early?” Last Jon had heard, Teal’c had returned to Dakara after helping Daniel and Vala escape the bracelets. He thought that Teal’c would stay on Dakara, nation building, until his graduation in 3 weeks.

Teal’c nodded. “I expressed an interest in witnessing how the young warriors of your nation are trained. General Landry stated that this would be the most appropriate time to view your training techniques. I have spent much of this week observing the… ‘Bravo Bunker’ trainees. I have found it most illuminating.”

“Indeed,” Jon echoed. “Well, glad to have you here. Wish you could do more than observe. But, really, while I would LOVE to have you by my side kicking butt, I know that you have come to watch. So, what do you want to see?”

Teal’c seemed to consider the question before answering, “I have only the desire to observe the training as it is set. If you will allow, I would like to observe your group through the upcoming battle.”

Jon was touched. Teal’c was asking permission to observe him through the exercise. Jon was certain that if he refused, Teal’c would go back and observe the Bravo Bunker trainees instead. 

But he could not refuse his old friend. In fact, the crafty old warrior would likely gain the most insight by watching Jon’s interactions with the other trainees. Teal’c knew Jack well enough to predict his course of action in any given situation. But this was completely out of Jack’s normal purview. But Jon reacted the same way Jack did, so Teal’c could use his knowledge to better understand what was going on.

“I would be honored, old friend.” Jon bowed to show how deeply he felt. “Did you remember to bring popcorn? Every good show should have popcorn.”

Teal’c cocked his head, “I did not.”

“Damn. Too bad. I could do with some real food. But, isn’t that just how life goes? I’d better get back to… whatever. It is really good to see you T-man.”

“And I you, O’Neill. Until later.”

“Yeah, later.” Jon suddenly grinned, “Undomesticated equines, T. Undomesticated equines.” 

Jon was rewarded by one of Teal’c’s rare smiles. So worth it. Jon turned away careful to contain his emotions. Seeing Teal’c had brought most of his feelings back to the surface. The gentle warrior was associated with too many of Jack’s memories. Both good and bad. 

But of all of Jack’s friends, Teal’c was the only one who had never been uncomfortable around Jon. He had accepted all that Jon was in his quiet way, even when Jon was uncomfortable with himself. He was never Jack’s clone or a replacement Jack to Teal’c. He was simply O’Neill. Young or old, Teal’c saw him as the same. Neither better, nor worse. To Teal’c, Jon simply ‘was.’

“Attention in the area. This is the Giant Voice with an exercise input. Exercise, exercise, exercise. Enemy aircraft have been seen within a 100 mile radius. All personnel are to assume simulated MOPP 2. Repeat, enemy aircraft have been seen within a 100 mile radius. All personnel are to assume simulated MOPP 2. Force Protection Condition Delta. Alarm Yellow. MOPP 2. Repeat Force Protection Condition Delta. Alarm Yellow. MOPP 2.”

Here we go! 

Jon waited for the next radio broadcast from Dynomutt. Hopefully, Capt. Collins had updated the alarm condition to coincide with the new threat. 

Come on! This should be automatic. Trained monkey’s can see that you have to announce alarm yellow.

Finally, the radio clicked, “All personnel, Alarm Yellow, FPCON Delta. Assume MOPP 2. Dynomutt, out.”

About damn time. “Benji, all present and accounted for.” Jon started the roll call that he had insisted on after any change in the bunker’s status. His call was quickly followed by Lassie and so on. Jon gave Teal’c one last nod before jogging to the CP to find out what was going on. 

Inside the CP, his two Flight-mates, Carson and Seymour, were busy taking in messages from the Survival Recovery Center (SRC). 

Hell! No wonder it took so long. The damn captain isn’t even awake yet.

Jon sent Carson to wake Capt. Collins. The PA warning rang just as the Captain arrived.

“Attention in the area. This is the Giant Voice with an exercise input. Exercise, exercise, exercise.” The PA then played a recording of jets streaking overhead followed by several explosions.

Jon immediately hit the air attack alarm, not waiting for the sleepy Captain to give the command. He could just hear the wavering tone echo through the courtyard. He dropped to his knees and put on his gas mask and gloves for simulated MOPP 4. When he was properly geared up, he looked over at his Flight-mates. They were quickly donning their gear. He nodded approvingly at his two Flight-mates as they finished getting into their gear. Jon set his helmet back on his head and then attached his voice emitter to his gas mask.

Jon moved over to the Captain. The Captain didn’t seem to exhibit the same sense of urgency that the training instructors had been trying to get the trainees to display. Jon watched in disgust as the Captain took his time putting his gloves on. 

He finally couldn’t take it anymore. “Sir, should I announce the new alarm and MOPP level?” Jon’s voice was distorted the voice emitter.

The Captain turned to Jon and gave a visible sigh, “Yeah. Alarm Red. MOPP 4.”

Jon resisted the urge to shake his head where the Captain could see him. “Carson.” Jon called. 

Carson turned to Jon. “Got it, Dorm Chief,” his voice also distorted.

“You use the PA to announce our current status so the guys sleeping in the other bunk houses know. I’ll radio the Flight.” Jon stepped away from Carson so his call wouldn’t interfere with Carson’s announcement. Jon spoke slowly and as clearly as possible to minimize the distortion in his voice through the emitter and the radio, “All units. FPCON Delta… Alarm Red... Simulated MOPP 4… Repeat… FPCON Delta... Alarm Red... Simulated MOPP 4… Give Dynomutt your count. Benji, out.” 

He waited for a response, just like before. “Lassie, all present and accounted for.”

“Rin Tin Tin, all present and accounted for.” 

Jon listened as each one of his units called and announced that they had everyone. Finally ending with Dino 8. Now the other Flights should sound off.

“Bravo is all present and accounted for.” 

“Charlie is all present and accounted for.”

“Delta is all present and accounted for.”

Jon turned back to Seymour, who had been checking each unit and Flight off of his checklist. Finally, Seymour turned to Capt. Collins. “All personnel are present and accounted for, Sir.”

The Captain walked over to the phone and dialed the SRC. “Charlie bunker, all present and accounted for…Yes, Sir.” The Captain hung up the phone and turned back to the trainees. “Alarm Black. MOPP 4. The SRC is sending out initial recon teams. You might as well get comfortable. This could take a while.” And with that sage advice, the Captain stretched out on the floor and went back to sleep, gas mask and all.

Carson made the announcement to change from Alarm Red (under attack) to Alarm Black (attack is over and NBC contamination and/or UXO hazards are suspected or present). Jon repeated the same announcement on the radio.

That done, Jon made himself comfortable in a nearby chair. Before long, sweat started to drip down his face inside the mask. It was annoying and there was nothing he could do about it. Well, maybe not nothing. But ripping the mask off to wipe sweat was not considered kosher. Than again…

Jon leaned back in the chair, balancing it on two legs, and began one of his least favorite exercise games; the sweat maze. Yup, just like the old children’s marble maze game, Jon would tilt and turn his head to keep the sweat from running into his eyes. Of course, this game was infinitely more challenging because he had to contend with multiple bogeys from multiple locations. 

The group waited nearly 30 minutes before the SRC called to declare that the initial sweep was clear and to send out secondary teams. 

Jon glanced over to the snoring Captain in disgust. He should have awoken when the phone rang. It was loud enough. Scratch that, he should have stayed awake as an example to the trainees. Stupid… lazy…

Jack may have been a difficult SOB to work with, but he never slouched off on a job, especially training. You needed every second of practice you could get, because the real thing was 20 times worse. You play like you fight. And the Captain must like to play dead, because he sure wouldn’t last a week under Jack’s command.

This Captain acted like he was enduring some kind of punishment, rather than facilitating the exercise for the trainees. Jack had always operated on the principle that you don’t HAVE to train. You GET to. Jon was exactly like Jack in that regard. He had too many memories of times when his training had saved his life and the lives of his team-mates. 

Nope, training was too important to slouch off. And the example that this Captain was showing these new Air Force trainee was despicable. Idly, Jon wondered if Capt. Collins behavior would improve if an EET member was here watching him. 

And that gave him an idea.

“Dino 6, Benji.”

“Go ahead, Benji.” The reply was nearly inaudible.

“Do you still have a ghost in your area?”

“Affirmative.”

“Please have the ghost rendezvous at Dynomutt’s location.”

“Wilco. Dino 6, out.”

Finally, Jon stomped over to the Captain, hoping to wake him with the noise. When that failed, he bent over and shook the Captain’s shoulder. Once the Captain was awake, he passed on the message and waited for the commands he knew should be coming.

“Huh… oh, yeah… send out the PAR team.”

“Scooby, Dynomutt.” Carson had been listening and didn’t even wait for Jon to relay the Captain’s orders.

“Go ahead, Dynomutt.”

“Execute Biscuit. Acknowledge. Over.” Biscuit was the code name for conducting a PAR team sweep using route A. They had 3 routes planned. Each route followed a different path through the complex. The second PAR team used the same routes, but started at a different point because of their location in the CCP.

“Roger. Scooby, out.”

While the group waited for Scooby to make the first check point, Teal’c arrived at the CP. Jon noticed with grim satisfaction that the Captain made more of an effort to be alert and on top of his game now that he was being watched by the EET. 

Teal’c looked first to Jon, who silently shook his head, and then to Capt. Collins. The Captain gave him a friendly smile that slowly faded as Teal’c continued to examine him like an insect. And apparently one he didn’t much like. 

But before Teal’c or Capt. Collins could speak, Scooby called in from the first check point. The wind over the radio microphone made the transmission even scratchier. “Scooby, Bravo 1, All clear.”

With his attention diverted, Capt. Collins scurried over to Carson to make sure the trainee was following the PAR team as they conducted their sweep of the bunker complex. Carson was more than prepared and had his pencil on the map at the position marked B1. 

Finding nothing to fault, the Captain gave Carson a quick, “Good job, Trainee,” before moving back to a chair to wait. Teal’c moved to a spot just behind the Captain to observe, making the Captain even more nervous.

“Scooby, Bravo 2, All clear.”

The Scooby team made the sweep of the complex in 20 minutes. All positions were clear. No casualties. No UXO’s. No visible damage. The team ended the sweep back at the bunk house where they started. 

Once again, Jon turned to the Captain and waited for the obvious response. The Captain, flustered by Teal’c’s attention, failed to call the SRC to let them know the PAR sweep was clear. 

“Is this not where you inform your superiors of the results of the post-attack reconnaissance sweep, Captain Collins?” Teal’c asked.

Teal’c’s deep voice seemed shake the Captain into action. The Captain flushed a deep red, and replied by picking up the phone and calling the SRC. “Charlie bunker… All clear… Yes, Sir.” He hung up the phone and turned to Carson. “Sound the ‘all clear’.”

“Yes, Sir.” Carson replied and immediately went to make the announcement. To move the bunker back to Alarm Yellow, MOPP 2.

Jon copied his actions over the radio.

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

SSgt Johnson was having a long week. It seemed like every phone in the basic training squadron was ringing off the hook with prank calls. All of which were dutifully reported to the CQ desk. So all week, SSgt Johnson had been logging and reporting prank calls. The first day, the pranks had been funny. The second day, they were just cute. The third day, they were getting old. Today, they were very, very annoying. 

So far, SSgt Johnson had logged calls where someone ordered pizza, Thai, or Chinese food, and a ‘can you hear me now’ call. If the pattern remained, he should be getting another report of a call soon. Needless to say that he wasn’t looking forward to writing yet another report. 

The CQ phone rang right on time. SSgt Johnson rattled off the standard greeting quickly, “322nd Training Squadron, CQ Desk, SSgt Johnson. This is an unsecure line. How may I help you, Sir or Ma’am?”

“Hello, SSgt Johnson. This is Julie Masterson from the President’s office. Is your unit commander available?”

SSgt Johnson looked at the clock again. This must be the prank call. But what the hell, maybe Col. Harding could weasel out who the prankster was if he stayed on the phone long enough. “Yes, Ma’am. Please hold while I get Col. Harding.” SSgt Johnson placed the call on hold and rang the Colonel. “Sir, this is the CQ. I think I have one of those prank calls on the line asking for you. The caller says she is from the President’s office.”

“Really? Finally, lets see if we can pin this bastard down. Transfer the call in and see if you can get a call back number.” Col. Harding had been wanting to catch the prankster since the first practical joke. However, the joker had proven remarkably elusive. This would be the first live contact he would have. Just maybe, the prankster had finally made a critical mistake.

“Yes, Sir.”

Col. Harding waited for the phone to ring. “Col. Harding,” he answered briskly.

“Good morning, Colonel. This is Julie Masterson from the President’s office. Can you please hold for the President?”

“Yes, of course.” President, my ass. I have you now, punk.

Col. Harding heard the phone line click and then a faint voice, “Yes, yes, I got it. Thank you.” The voice suddenly got louder, “Colonel. Good morning.”

Col. Harding decided to play along for now to see if he could get any more information. “Morning, Sir.”

“A good friend of mine told me about one of your trainees. He should be graduating in a few weeks. Asked me to attend. Well, as it happens, my schedule seems to be full, the President of Pakistan is visiting, but I wanted to personally pass on my congratulations and my regrets at not being able to attend.”

“Really, Sir. And who would that be?” Col Harding asked, fishing for information.

“Let’s see… Jack...” Col. Harding heard a rustling in the background. “…No, John O’Neill. The memo says he’s in Flight 1342.”

The memo. Col. Harding was very familiar with the ‘memo’ in question. The poor O’Neill kid had been made famous in the squadron with his uncle’s intra-departmental memo. Even deployed to the field during Warrior Week, the kid received more mail than any of the other Flights in the squadron. Now it seemed that the joker was targeting the kid. Not on my watch. Col Harding had finally had enough of this phone call. “Ah yes, that memo. Are you sure you wouldn’t also like to order some Thai food. Our cooks make a mean Beef Salad.”

“Excuse me?”

“No, excuse me, Punk. This is a military unit. We have neither the time nor the inclination to play these elaborate practical jokes. You will cease and desist these calls immediately or I will personally see your ass in Fort Leavenworth. Do you understand me? And, frankly, you don’t sound anything like the President.” Col. Harding didn’t wait for an answer. He slammed the receiver down in its cradle. Col. Harding felt good for the first time since the jokes had started. Now maybe his unit could get back down to the business of training the newest members of the Air Force.

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

Across the country, a very confused President Hayes continued to stare at the receiver. 

“Sir, is everything alright?” Mrs. Julie Masterson asked her boss. As the Senior Presidential Secretary, she took her job very seriously.

“He asked if I wanted to order Thai food,” he stated absently. “You did tell him it was me, right?”

Mrs. Masterson turned pale, “Yes, Sir. I even asked him to hold.”

“Ah…” President Hayes turned a new determined look at Mrs. Masterson. “Julie, I don’t care what it takes. I am going to this graduation. If the president of Pakistan wants to tag along, that’s fine by me. Hell, might even give him an eye full.”

“Um… yes, Sir.”

“Make the calls… I suddenly have a craving for Beef Salad.” He turned back to his desk and the large stack of reports he still had to go through.

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

The rest of the morning was more of the same. Two more air attacks and one rocket attack had the Charlie bunker in MOPP 4 for most of the rest of their shift. When Bravo Flight finally relieved them, the whole group was tired and dragging. 

After a quick breakfast, Jon had the Flight form up in the courtyard. They were instructed by Capt. Collins to fill sand bags and fortify their positions using expedient hardening, i.e. sandbag walls. 

He broke up the Flight into their elements and directed two elements to fill while the other two carried. He switched every hour to give the illusion of variety. Luckily, the ongoing air attacks would send the Flight scurrying to the nearest bunker. They stayed in MOPP 4 long enough to relax from the hard physical labor of moving sandbags. A few of his Flight-mates even managed to doze off.

Just before lunch, the first of the casualties arrived wearing a big black vest announcing that he was DOA. The poor souls helped fill and carry the bags but didn’t get to rest when the group went into MOPP 4 yet again. 

Finally, they were relieved for lunch by Bravo Flight and again ate quickly and hit the latrine, before turning in at their bunk house.

Jon called everyone over before they fell into their bunks to try and sleep. “Okay, campers, I know you are all exhausted. If you want to sleep uninterrupted, I recommend that you sleep with your gas mask and gloves on. The element leaders and I will take turns keeping watch and conducting a roll call. We will wake you if we go to MOPP 4 and you are not already suited up. Get to your bunks and we’ll do one final roll call before lights out. Finally, if you care, I have today’s mail.” Jon held up the bag of mail. Only two people stuck around to see if they received anything. The rest worked towards their cots and fell into them.

The last roll call found his Flight ‘all present and accounted for.’ Jon took first watch and soon was surrounded by the sound of his team mates snoring muffled by their gas masks. 

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

Thursday’s shift was a lot more exciting than Wednesday’s. Instead of near constant air attacks, they were busy repelling near constant ground attacks. Jon and the Fire Team were busy responding to different SALUTE reports. His Manpower Team was already back filling for the 3 guys that had been ‘killed’ during these attacks. 

The EET were a constant presence. They seemed to attack the trainees during any lull in the action. They asked for definitions, alarms, signals, MOPP levels, SABC treatment options for a list of symptoms, M-16 characteristics, and so on. Never giving the trainees a chance to relax. 

The whole Flight was both anticipating and dreading their Bravo Flight relief. Anticipating because they would no longer be the main target of the EET. Dreading because they would once again be filling sandbags with tired, achy muscles. 

Around 0500, Jon had finally had it with the ground attacks. He broke off from the CP and waved at Dino 3 before disappearing into the tree line. Once in the trees, he circled the compound until he was overlooking the compound from a small hill above Dino 5. He sighted in and as the enemy began to appear, he would snipe them from the hill. 

The aggressors finally, figured out what he was doing and tried to surround his position, but Jon was already ahead of them. He slipped into the trees and waited for the first of the PJ trainees to pass. As the hapless Airman, walked by, Jon grabbed him in a bear hug, stole his knife and pressed the dull edge into the trainee’s neck.

“You’re dead, Airman,” Jon whispered into the man’s ear.

The aggressor relaxed in his grip. 

“Strip off your gear. Keep the MILES. I’ll take your weapons.”

“But…” the man tried to protest.

“Ack! You are dead. You don’t care remember?”

“Right.” The Airman stripped off his gear.

Jon stacked up his gear and told his dead captive to move and lay down in the spot that Jon had been sniping from. Then he waited for the next one, and the next one, until he had a tidy pile of gear. 

“Thanks for the re-supply. Have fun at the morgue,” Jon gave as a farewell and returned to the bunker loaded with gear. 

Surprisingly, Jon made it all the way back to the bunk house without seeing anyone but his Flight-mates. He stowed the gear and when asked, said that he had recovered it from several of the enemy kills just outside the walls. This made his Flight-mates grin. 

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

Jon barely remembered the rest of the day. He was so tired that he was on auto-pilot. He responded to the alarms and signals automatically. Often catching himself right before he made the wrong action. Twice he found himself running towards the sound of gunfire in the distance before he remembered that he was supposed to seek shelter instead.

That afternoon he fell into a deep exhausted sleep.

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

Friday continued Thursday’s pace. The trainees woke up exhausted. Jon made sure they posted properly and continued as they had the last several days. After one air attack, the EET seemed satisfied that they were going to continue to maintain the exhausting pace. 

Then they disappeared. Apparently the EET needed to sleep too. 

Jon thought that this would be their best chance to pull off their prank. He joined the Fire Team at Dino 4 and the group silently slid into the woods. 

As tired as they were, Jon was proud of how well his team-mates were holding up under the stress. Even knowing how exhausted they must feel, they still moved quietly through the trees towards the enemy bunker. 

Once the bunker was in sight, the group broke up into 4 groups. Jon alone would try to handle the third objective, the CP. One group of two, Skoke and Gumm, would handle sabotaging the PJ trainees. Meanwhile, Smith setup the trip wires on the PJ instructors’ bunk house, and Emery would steal the flag and fly a replacement.

Jon snuck into the CP building. He quietly filled two water bottles with clear vinegar and set them next to the coffee pot. The CP had a habit of storing water nearby to ensure a continuous flow of coffee. The vinegar would spoil at least one pot for sure. Next, Jon set up a continuous line across every surface in the hallway. It took 10 minutes to setup, but anyone rushing into the CP would be instantly tangled by the cord. Finally, Jon tied each of the individual rooms’ door knobs to a door knob across the hallway. The doors would open about 6 inches, but only one at a time.

The whole time, Jon could hear the CP technician working in the CP talking on the radio and making calls, directing the opposition as they worked into position. Jon slipped out of the building as silently as he snuck in, and went to the overlook point that had been designated as their rendezvous point.

Jon slid next to Emery and Smith where they were waiting. “How’d it go?” he asked.

Smith’s grin was answer enough. 

Emery replied, “Easy as pie, Dorm Chief.” He handed the ‘Devil Dogs’ flag to Jon.

“Good.” Jon pulled out a pair of ‘recovered’ binoculars. He watched Alpha bunker looking for any sign of Skoke and Gumm. The pair finally emerged and put the final trip wires in place at either end of the bunk house before entering the woods. 

Jon turned the binoculars to the flag pole and spied Ruso’s handiwork. The replacement flag for the ‘Devil Dogs’ was a white apron purloined from the kitchen linen with the words ‘Toasted Puppies’ emblazoned on either side. At the bottom, not visible from his vantage point, Jon had written “’In war there is no substitute for victory.’ – General Douglas MacArthur. Ka-Boom. Signed Your Enemy.” It was a rather cryptic message to Chief Gunderson, if he remembered the events that lead Jack to making the quote in the first place. The early morning breeze was making the apron flap merrily in the wind. “Nice.”

Once Skoke and Gumm made the rendezvous point, group made their way back towards Charlie bunker. Once they were within sight, Jon stopped the group. “Pick sniper positions. One per side. Call an attack when you see it, but wait until you hear the DFP’s fire before eliminating the enemy silently.”

Jon left them in the woods as he made his way silently back to the bunker complex. As he approached the perimeter, Jon could see that the EET had returned in force. He slipped by the DFP team while they were busy being grilled by the EET member. 

Jon angled back towards the bunk house and had almost made it when he heard “O’Neill.” 

Damn! He turned to give TSgt Vega a welcoming smile. “Yes, Sir.”

“I finally found you. I want you to walk me through your defensive plan for today.”

Jon gave a small internal sigh, “Yes, Sir. Today, I have rotated the Dino teams…” he continued to outline his plan for defending the compound today. TSgt Vega continued to grill him in such a way that he might have begun to doubt his strategies. But he knew the strategies were sound. Otherwise the Air War College wouldn’t teach them to all the high ranking officers. 

Finally satisfied, TSgt Vega let Jon continue to the bunk house, just in time for another air strike. The rest of the shift was just as busy. But Jon did find the time to properly fold the enemy flag into a nice tight bundle. 

After Bravo Flight relieved them, Jon and his Flight once again filled sandbags and continued to harden the existing structures. His Flight no longer sat down so much as controlled their collapse. The release for lunch couldn’t come soon enough. 

Jon swung by the CP to pick up the day’s mail and make one small final delivery. He snuck into the Captain’s quarters and hung the ‘Devil Dogs’ flag in the Captain’s window where the whole bunker could see it, if they were looking. And Jon knew that Chief Gunderson would be looking. 

With his last mission accomplished, Jon slipped back out of the building and returned to his bunk house to hand out mail and take his watch. 

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

Around 2000 hrs, the exercise termination was called. Ruso woke Jon so he could report to the CP for orders. The trip was wasted as the only orders were for the trainees to stand down and rest. Jon reported back to the bunk house. He and Ruso stripped the gas masks and gloves off their sleeping team mates. As a testament to how exhausted the trainees were, only two woke up during the process. 

Jon sent Ruso to his bunk and returned to his own bunk in the CP for the first time in 3 days.

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

Saturday dawned bright and clear. TSgt Vega was well rested after leaving the exercise area early last night. The trainees had performed very well during the exercise; His trainees more so than the Flights accompanying them. To say that he was preening, would not be a stretch.

The Charlie bunker ‘hot wash’ was scheduled at 0800. TSgt Vega was more than ready to attend the ‘hot wash’ for the exercise. He had been able to identify only a few faults with his trainees. He was curious to see if anyone else had similar difficulties.

TSgt Vega entered the briefing room to find only three other people already in attendance. One was a TI he recognized from the 324th. But the other two were strangers. TSgt Vega was curious about the large black man in the corner wearing a hat. He had seen him observing the trainees during the exercise, but had not been able to meet him formally.

“Morning all.” TSgt Vega greeted the room. He picked his way through the mass of chairs in the briefing room to the stranger. “Hello, I’m TSgt Vega. The TI for Flight 1342. I haven’t had a chance to meet you yet.” He extended his hand to the large black man.

The stranger regarded TSgt Vega closely before slowly clasping his hand. “I am called Teal’c and I return your greeting, Technical Sergeant Vega.” 

TSgt Vega felt like he had just passed some kind of test. The stranger had a strange formal accent, but otherwise was an oddly soothing presence. “So, what did you think about my trainees. I had the ones working the early morning shift, Alpha Flight.”

Again as the stranger regarded him, TSgt Vega felt himself being weighed and measured. But he had nothing to hide, he returned the man’s steady gaze with one of his own. He received a faint nod before Teal’c spoke.

“I found the whole battle to be most illuminating.” Teal’c paused, “Do you command the one called O’Neill?”

TSgt Vega had never heard it put quite the way before, but… “Yes, he is my Dorm Chief.”

“And this… ‘Dorm Chief’ is a position of leadership?” 

The question caught TSgt Vega off guard. The term Dorm Chief was well known throughout the Air Force. That this man could be on the EET, but not Air Force, was very strange. “Yes… You’re not Air Force are you?”

The man gave him a slight bow at the head, “I am not.”

“Ah, well then, the Dorm Chief is the ranking trainee in any Flight. The trainees report to their Element Leader. The Element Leaders report to the Dorm Chief. The Dorm Chief reports to the TI,” TSgt Vega explained. 

“Thank you. Your explanation is most helpful.”

Just then several people stormed into the briefing room. One Major looked royally pissed and was closely flanked by an equally pissed off Chief. Both were wearing PJ wings and berets. TSgt Vega recognized Chief Gunderson from the previous week and wondered who could piss off the happy go lucky Chief. TSgt Vega winced and took several steps back to remain out of the line of fire.

The Major scanned the room, apparently looking for someone in particular. And apparently not finding him. “Where is he?” he asked the room.

“Uh, who, Sir?”

“The former Captain Collins, that’s who.”

“He hasn’t made it yet, Sir,” TSgt Vega ventured, before boldly gesturing for the Major to take a seat at the table. 

Soon other EET members and the other TI’s arrived, but still no Capt. Collins. The briefing started promptly at 0800. Capt. Collins failed to show to provide any input.

Each of the Flights received passing grades for the exercise. Alpha Flight was recognized as the outstanding performer for not only the bunker, but for the whole exercise area. Each of the TI’s were commended and instructed to return to their Flights and assume command. 

As he was leaving, TSgt Vega pulled Chief Gunderson aside. “Chief, what happened?”

The Chief gave TSgt Vega an evil, grim smile, “Capt. Collins orchestrated a counter-strike on Echo bunker.” 

“He did? I was under the impression that Capt. Collins couldn’t lead a dog out of a box. How do you know it was him?” TSgt Vega asked.

Chief appeared to consider his question, “The flag was hanging in his bunk room… But, you know, now that I think about it, you’re right. But how did the flag get into his room?”

Now, TSgt Vega was confused, but before he could reply he heard Teal’c’s deep voice, “Of what flag do you speak?”

The Chief turned to regard the new man. Teal’c returned his gaze steadily. “Our ‘colors’ went missing Friday morning. They were found in Capt. Collins room in Charlie bunker that afternoon.”

Teal’c turned to TSgt Vega for and explanation, “His colors are the flag that his unit flies. It is usually specific to a unit.”

“Indeed. Then to lose such a flag would bring great dishonor to the unit.” Teal’c turned back to the Chief who was turning red at the mention of dishonor. “Would your anger not be better spent on disciplining the sentries on duty rather than directed at the one who succeeded in acquiring such a prize against difficult odds?”

The Chief gapped at Teal’c and then turned deep red in embarrassment. “There were no sentries on duty.”

Teal’c turned and looked at TSgt Vega confused, “Were they not on opposite sides of the battlefield? Why would one side post sentries and the other not?”

“Ah, well, the trainee bunkers are not supposed to attack the aggressors’ camp,” TSgt Vega replied.

“Is this written in the Rules of Engagement?” Teal’c asked.

TSgt Vega considered the question, was it? “No, it isn’t.”

Teal’c turned back to the Chief, “Then you should have expected a counter-attack and posted sentries to defend your compound. Anything less is arrogance for in battle nothing is certain. To be angry at an enemy for taking advantage of your weakness is cowardly.” The Chief looked suitably chastised. Teal’c turned back to TSgt Vega. “It has been an honor to meet you, Technical Sergeant Vega. I shall see you again at graduation. Until then, lek tol… goodbye.” Teal’c bowed his head again before walking around the pair and exiting the briefing room.

The Chief and TSgt Vega watched him exit. 

“Well, that was odd,” Chief Gunderson stated out loud. “Where do you know him from?”

“I don’t. He was EET. I just met him before the meeting,” TSgt Vega replied.

“He’s going to your Flight’s graduation?”

“Apparently.” TSgt Vega shook himself and turned back to the Chief. “If I had to guess, I would say that he works with the O’Neill kid’s uncle. He asked about my Dorm Chief earlier. I mean, how else would a civilian get permission to evaluate BMT trainees?” 

Chief Gunderson tensed at the name O’Neill. “In war there is no substitute for victory,” the Chief whispered to himself. 

Chief flashed back to a time when he had been chewed out by his team leader for failing to give an exercise the proper amount of attention. He had argued that it wasn’t real, only a war game. Major Jack O’Neill had countered that it was never a game and that his actions had directly resulted in the death of his entire team. The Major ended the lecture with the quote and then proceeded to make his life hell for the last 3 days of the exercise. “Ah hell. Damn it!” Chief Gunderson turned back to TSgt Vega. “Do you know that for a fact? About him working with O’Neill?”

“No. Why?”

“’Cause, I think ol’ Coyote just pulled one over on me. That or he learned how to chew me out without actually being here.” He rubbed his hand on his forhead, trying to stave off a tension headache. 

“Ah…”

“Never mind.” Chief sighed, “I’ll go reign in the Major. And he was so looking forward to hurting Collins.” 

“Alright, I’ll see you around, Chief.” TSgt Vega left to go collect his Flight. 

Why was everything so damn weird around the O’Neill kid? Why couldn’t he just have a normal BMT Flight? TSgt Vega just couldn’t resolve the loose ends around the kid. The harder he tried to tie them up, the looser they got. 

TSgt Vega now doubted that the kid had been in any kind of gang. Killed? Maybe. Seen something horrible and lived? Definitely. The nightmares were proof enough of that. But TSgt Vega was through making assumptions about the kid and his past. He would instead collect only facts.

From what TSgt Vega observed this week, he knew for a fact that the kid had seen battle before. Not just gunfire, but an all out fire-fight. In fact, the kid was conditioned to respond to gunfire by running towards it, battle ready. Gangs don’t give you that kind of automatic response. Neither does any kind of police training that TSgt Vega has ever heard of. Gangs train to run away. Police train to duck. Only the military trains to run towards. But the kid was far too young to have any practical military experience. 

And that, dear Watson, leaves us with the most improbable; that the kid had been raised as some kind of super-warrior. 

But that made even less sense as the rest. This wasn’t some kind of Sci-Fi special. Why train a super-warrior from babyhood just to send him to BMT? And, for all intents and purposes, the kid acted like any other normal teenager… with a Top Secret clearance… working on an Air Force Special Project… under the direct supervision of the Office of the President. 

Yeah…Right.

TSgt Vega shook off his wandering thoughts as he arrived at Charlie Bunker. 

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

TSgt Vega spent the rest of his morning trying to coax his exhausted Flight to clean and tidy the bunker complex. After they had packed the last of their gear, TSgt Vega had them load all their bags onto the back of a flat bed truck. They had finished just in time to break for lunch. TSgt Vega made sure they were fed and watered for the long march back to the dorm. 

Oddly enough, the whole Flight was in an excellent, if exhausted, mood. They were tired, but TSgt Vega didn’t hear a single complaint about the work or even about the march. It was almost eerie. TSgt Vega chalked it up to his imagination. He kept hoping that they were just too tired to complain… or something like that. 

TSgt Vega also kept a quiet watch on the O’Neill kid. As exhausted as he was, he still managed to keep up the encouraging comments and lend a helping had to those who were obviously past their limit. The kid was a natural leader. TSgt Vega could see how he cared for each of his Flight-mates. It was a bond that couldn’t be faked and was demonstrated, not with words, but with actions. 

As TSgt Vega expanded his observations, he noticed that the Element Leaders were unconsciously mimicing O’Neill. Each was ensuring that the trainees assigned to their Element were cared for first and only then would see to themselves. Finally, the rest of the Flight followed where the others led. They volunteered to help without coaxing, even though they were numb exhaustion. 

TSgt Vega couldn’t argue with the result. The Flight was an efficient machine that worked well together under the most stressful of conditions. He doubted that he would have been able to see this interaction for himself if the whole Flight had not been too tired to remember that he was there. And for that, TSgt Vega felt privliged. These new Airman would take this lesson with them to the rest of the Air Force. 

Today was another day where it was truly worth being a BMT TI. He could only feel pride for what his Flight had accomplished. Definitely worth it!

Anyway, TSgt Vega had happily spent the whole week in a dank bunker, sleeping on a bunk. He was almost dreading going back to the squadron and its latest rounds of practical jokes. He almost wondered what had been happening at the squadron, but not enough to want to ask anyone. 

As his Flight rounded the last bend in the trail, TSgt Vega could see the bus to freedom. Well, actually it was the bus back to the dorm, but it sure looked like freedom after Warrior Week. All he had to do was get his Flight back to the dorm and dinner and he would be free till tomorrow. He would be free of the trainees for a few hours. He could forget about the O’Neill kid and all the strange things that happened around him. Yup, a shower and his own bed would do wonders for his own morale. 

The bus ride was quick and the dorm was in view. The sight of the dorm seemed to suck the last of the energy out of the trainees. They dragged themselves and their bags up the stairs to the dorm. TSgt Vega had them dump the gear in the hallway. Once everything was back upstairs in the dorm, TSgt Vega had the trainees rush through a quick shower before he released them for the evening. 

He grinned all the way out to the parking lot as most of the trainees had opted to skip the chow hall in favor of a run to the BX for snacks. He knew how they felt. He knew that a drive-thru was in his near future. Hell, he didn’t even plan on stopping by the CQ before he headed home. 

Yes, tomorrow would be soon enough to deal with the trainees and their problems again. Tomorrow would be soon enough to deal with the headache that the O’Neill kid gave him every time something weird happened. Tomorrow was a whole new week.

CONTINUED IN ‘SECOND TO NONE – FIFTH WEEK’


	6. Second To None - Fifth WOT

“Action is the real measure of intelligence.” Napoleon Hill (1883-1970)

Fifth WOT Agenda: Weapons Turn In, Written Test II, Dress & Appearance II, Career Progression & Quality Force, Ethics, Military Citizenship, Air Force History and Organization, Financial Management, Healthy Lifestyles & Alcohol Drug Awareness Prevention & Treatment Training

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

Sunday dawned far too early for Jon and the rest of his Flight. For the first time in weeks, Jon awoke to the sound of reveille. He barely stifled a moan as his tired muscles protested any movement. He quickly rolled upright and began to stretch and move, trying to silence his body’s protests.

With everything back in working order, he quickly worked through his morning routine. Once he was feeling human again, he walked through the dorm bays and roused the few trainees who had wanted ‘just a few more minutes.’ With the rest of his Flight awake, if not aware, Jon turned his thoughts to his absent Training Instructor. 

This was the first time that the Flight had not had a TI in the dorm pushing the trainees through their schedule soon after reveille. Jon was trying to figure out if it was a deliberate test or merely an oversight. Either way, he was going to ensure that his Flight was up and ready whenever TSgt Vega decided to stroll in. In the mean time, there was plenty to do.

After breakfast, Jon organized the Flight leaders and had his Flight-mates drag their mobility bags down to the patio. Once there, they pulled out and cleaned all their gear. Anything that could be washed was given to the laundry detail. Everything else was brushed off and repacked carefully in its designated bag. 

With the gear cleaned, Jon had the Flight clean the dorm and organize their lockers. TSgt Vega appeared shortly before they finished. He simply scanned the area, nodded, and informed everyone that they would meet in the dayroom at 0900 hours, and then left the dorm to check in with the CQ office. 

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

At promptly 0900, TSgt Vega entered the dayroom with two other people in tow; a new LtCol and a man wearing a suit that screamed federal agent. 

With little preamble, TSgt Vega introduced the Lt Colonel. “Morning everyone, this is LtCol Dyer from the Exercise Evaluation Team. He is here to summarize your performance during last week’s exercise.” He gestured to the Colonel to take his place at the podium.

The Colonel gave them a friendly smile, “Don’t worry. You all did an excellent job last week during the exercise. So much so, that your performance was commented on by several of my key evaluators.” He turned and pulled something from behind the podium, “It is my distinct honor to present Flight 1342 of the 322nd Training Squadron with the designation ‘Outstanding Performer’ for the Warrior Week exercise.” He held up a brightly colored pendant ribbon to show it to the whole Flight. “TSgt Vega, your guidon, please.”

TSgt Vega grinned and gestured for one of the trainees to fetch the guidon. The trainee returned with the flag bearing the Flight’s number and presented it to TSgt Vega. TSgt Vega in turn tipped the staff so the Colonel could affix the ribbon to the top. Once the action was complete, TSgt Vega presented the flag to the Flight and they broke out cheering.

TSgt Vega handed the guidon back to the trainee and raised his hands for quiet. “Thank you, Colonel.”

The group clapped again as the Colonel stepped back away from the podium and TSgt Vega resumed his usual place. 

“It seems that last week we missed a bit of news while we were busy with Warrior Week. The rest of the squadron has already been briefed.” TSgt Vega paused and scanned the room before continuing, “The 322nd Training Squadron was informed last Thursday that the President of the United States will be making a scheduled visit to Lackland AFB. Specifically, he is here to honor all the trainees and trainers assigned to the 37th Training Wing and the 737th Training Group.

“To this end, he plans on attending several of the BMT graduation events on Thursday and Friday of next week, including: the Airman’s Run, the Airman’s Coin Ceremony, the Graduation Parade, and the Squadron Open House. This squadron, and specifically this Flight, has been chosen to host the President during these activities. I think that we can all thank a specific General, who shall remain unnamed, for this honor.”

Half the Flight turned and looked at Jon in surprise. He mouthed a silent ‘what’ before turning back to the front.

TSgt Vega just shook his head and continued, “This ‘honor’ means that you will all have to go through additional Secret Service screening not only for yourselves but for your attending family members as well. You will each be required to submit to an interview with the Secret Service. You will also be required to submit a list of names for anyone in your family that has plans on attending any of these ceremonies so that they can be vetted. 

“Special Agent Richards is our liaison with the Secret Service. He will be conducting interviews with each of you today. Special Agent Richards?”

The Secret Service Agent stepped forward with a shy smile, “Hi. Um, I’ve given TSgt Vega a schedule for the interviews. But I really do need you to contact your relatives and get a list of everyone who plans on attending graduation. Everyone will need to be screened and added to an authorized list. If they try to surprise you, they will not be on the list and not authorized access to the base during the President’s visit. Uh… That’s all for now.”

“Good. The interviews will take place in my office and take priority over everything else on the schedule. Clear?” TSgt Vega asked.

“YES, SIR,” the Flight replied with practiced ease.

“Alright, take five.” TSgt Vega turned back to LtCol Dyer and Special Agent Richards and gestured for the door.

As soon as they had passed through the doorway, Jon collapsed back onto the floor holding his head.

“Dorm Chief, are you alright?” a concerned voice asked to his right.

“I’ll kill him,” Jon replied, “slowly.”

“What? Who?” Jon recognized Skoke’s concerned voice now.

“My uncle, that’s who… Painfully slow.”

“Um… why?” Skoke asked slowly.

Jon removed his hands to glare at his friend before replacing them with his arm.

“Oh… right… he’s the one that asked the President… yikes!”

“Really?” a new voice asked. “I mean, it could just be a coincidence, right?”

Jon smiled at that before replying, “Yeah, it could be some sort of cosmic joke. But, I’ll blame my uncle anyway.” 

“Don’t you want to meet the president?” a confused voice asked.

Jon sighed and sat up to face the group, “Yes and no. Yes, I feel honored that the President of the United States is taking the time to come to meet us. All of us. But also no. I don’t like the three ring circus that comes with that honor. You’ll understand better when all this is done.”

“You’ve done this before?... Met the president, I mean.”

“Me? No, but my uncle has and complained bitterly about the whole process… Something about having more important things to do than choosing bunting. Granted, he was the base commander at the time, but the premise is basically the same,” Jon answered honestly.

Further conversation was stifled as TSgt Vega walked in. “Vasquez, you’re first with Special Agent Richards. As for the rest of you, I have posted the schedule. Know your time. 

“Now, on to new business. Fifth Week has a tougher pace than the other weeks. This week is almost purely academic and drill. Starting on Monday we will close out Fourth week by turning in all our equipment, mobility bags, and weapons. Daily PC and drill will resume and be the start of our day. We will also go through the proper wear of the Class A, B, Semi-Formal, and Formal uniforms or Blues. In light of our distinguished guest, I expect you to pay extra attention for graduation.

“Tuesday, in addition to drill, we will cover career progression in the Air Force, the Quality Air Force standards and expectations, Ethics, and Military Citizenship. Basically, how to act and behave as an Airman in the USAF.

“Wednesday will continue the drill practice. That afternoon, we will go over the organization and structure of the Air Force and delve into its unique history. 

“Thursday, again drill, followed by classes in financial management, healthy lifestyles, alcohol and drug awareness prevention and treatment training. The old ‘just say no’ class.

“Friday is our day for extra drill time and your second written test. Yes, the other dreaded test. So, whenever, you are not practicing drill, you should be studying for the test. 

“Saturday will be the practice Physical Abilities and Skills Test or PAST for those of you who want to try out for Special Operations. All of you WILL go through the pre-test even if you know that you won’t pass. Consider yourselves moral support for those in the Flight that want to test.

“Finally, this week is also your second Red-Line inspection. I expect you to do better than the last time. Don’t disappoint me. Now, once the Dorm Chief is satisfied with the cleanliness of the dorm, you are granted base liberty. DON’T miss your interview. DON’T leave before you are cleared by the Dorm Chief. Any questions?... They’re all yours, Dorm Chief.” 

Jon stood and addressed the Flight, “Go over your lockers with your element leaders. I’ll conduct an inspection of the common areas. Stand fast until both are cleared. Dismissed.”

A half hour later, the dorm and the majority of the lockers had been cleared. After the last few lockers were straightened out, Jon dismissed them on the promise that they would be on time for their interview with Agent Richards. Several of the trainees had already departed for the chapel services after having completed their interviews with the Secret Service Agent. Others had formed a study group in the day room to wait. 

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

The morning had slipped into afternoon before Jon was finally called in for his interview with Special Agent Richards. He had been left for last, which suited him fine. He walked into the office with confidence. His memory providing him with numerous details of similar meetings. He didn’t feel any anxiety over this meeting. It was standard operating procedure (SOP) after all.

“Trainee O’Neill, have a seat.” Special Agent Richards greeted casually.

“Thanks. Now, since I already have clearance, what can I do for you?” Jon replied.

Agent Richards was momentarily taken off guard. He fish-mouthed a few times before he could regain his composure. Finally, he laughed. “You know, you look and act uncannily like your uncle. But, never mind. I actually have several things for you. First, your orders.” Agent Richards pulled out a sealed envelope and handed it to Jon.

Jon took it with some confusion, “Orders? I thought I had to graduate first.” He tore open the envelope and quickly read the orders signed by the President. His anxiety increased as he understood not only the orders, but the unwritten reasons behind them.

First, his commission was being reactivated years ahead of schedule. Second, his new follow-on base would be Cheyenne Mountain, no surprise there. Instead the surprise was that he was no longer scheduled to go to technical school. Instead, he would report directly to the SGC as a Special Tactics Officer to General Landry. Third, he was now subject to a no-notice recall if he was needed before his report by date. Regardless of his BMT graduation status.

All this spelled big trouble brewing in the near future. So much for killing time till he turned 21. It looked like they couldn’t wait that long now. And that was VERY, VERY BAD.

“Crap!” he whispered quietly, and tucked the orders into his wallet. He might need them if he had to depart quickly. He looked back at Agent Richards, “Do I need to post these with the squadron commander?”

The agent shook his head, “No, as far as they’re concerned, you are just another trainee. But there is no restriction on informing the commander, if needed. General Landry left that to your discretion.”

Jon nodded in acknowledgment, “So, I take it that you have been cleared for the project?”

Special Agent Richards gave him a small smile and nodded, “That is the reason they sent me as liasion with the regular Secret Service advance team. I’m to act as your liasion with the SGC as well.”

“Right. Well, what else ya got?” Jon asked. 

The agent smiled and grabbed a small package from his briefcase. “This is from Colonel Carter. She said I was to hand-deliver this package and take whatever you gave me personally.”

Again, Jon frowned again. He opened the package and found a new watch, a set of dog tags with his name, and a note. 

Jon, 

We were able to miniaturize the transmitter. Both are encoded with your signal. You can wear one or the other or both. Send the old one back to Dr. Lee. He will be working on the project while I’m gone.

Sam.

Gone. Gone where? Oh boy, that can’t be good. 

Sam had transferred to Nellis AFB to get away from the excitement of the SGC and spend more time with Cassie. It would take a lot for her to leave Nellis. In fact, Jon doubted that anyone but Jack could order her to go anywhere if she really didn’t want to. 

Not that she would disobey a direct order, but that order would have to go through Jack first. And Jack tended to be a bit overprotective of his former teammates; especially since he couldn’t keep a close eye on them anymore.

Jon swapped his dog tags and watch with the ones in the pouch. The new watch was noticeable lighter and cooler. It almost felt like a normal watch, just a little bigger. The new dog tags were heavier than his real ones, but not visibly different. He smiled as he recalled how many times Jack had lost his watch to the Jaffa, but his dog tags had been largely ignored. Obviously, Sam remembered as well.

Jon stuffed his old watch and tags into the pouch with the note. He resealed the package and gave it back to Agent Richards. “This needs to go to Dr. Lee at Cheyenne Mountain. Hand-deliver only.”

The agent nodded as if he was expecting the instructions. 

“Anything else?” Jon asked.

“Actually, yes.” Agent Richards pulled out another envelope. “This is the last one,” he added.

Jon tore into the last envelope, with little enthusiasm. It was a short letter to Jon from Jack.

Kid, 

You never write. You never call. And since I haven’t heard about you burning down the squadron dormitory yet, I figured you might have found another way to keep busy. Good job. As far as I know, you haven’t been caught… yet. 

Anyway, you might want to inform our good secret service agent about your antics before they go into red alert and cancel the presidential visit. Henry is looking forward to meeting Col Harding for some reason (I have no idea why, I swear). 

Don’t deny it. I know me too well. You can go back to harassing the staff after the uber-paranoid secret service leave. 

See you soon,

The Old Man

Jon groaned out loud. Well, this sucks. But Jack was right. Someone in the squadron was bound to talk about the practical jokes and then the Secret Service would be determined to find out who could walk about with impunity. Great. 

Jon gave one last resigned sigh before addressing the agent again, “Agent Richards, I need you to come with me.”

The agent gave him a funny look. “Why?”

Jon gave him a cocky grin, “Because you are bound to find out sooner or later. And I have been advised that sooner, would be better.”

The agent continued to stare at him. 

“Look, all will be revealed in good time. Just… follow me, okay?”

“Alright.”

“This way,” Jon said as he led the secret service agent out of the office to the fire escape. He glanced back at the dorm guard before inserting a stick in the door alarm and opening the door. He slipped out onto the fire escape and closed the door behind a confused Special Agent Richards. Jon climbed onto the roof with practiced ease and pulled the agent up beside him.

“Okay, why are we on the roof?” Agent Richards asked.

“Because this is my base of operations,” Jon replied stalking off to one of the far corners of the roof.

The agent quickly followed him, “Operations?”

“Yes,” Jon answered again, stopping in front of a ventilation shaft. He quickly unscrewed the vent cover and pulled out his laptop. He shut down the autodialing program and then the operating system. 

“Okay, I need a detailed explanation of just what-in-the-hell is going on here,” Special Agent Richards demanded.

Jon, unfazed, sat down and closed the laptop. He gestured for the Special Agent take a seat. Once the unhappy agent was down, Jon began explaining, “Operation Payback is an independent operation developed and undertaken by me to ensure my ‘special skills’ are kept active and in good form, not to mention my sanity. 

“My mission parameters include playing non-hazardous practical jokes and pranks on the staff of the 322nd Training Squadron for as long as possible without revealing myself as the perpetrator. I have a complete list of the pranks I have played in this computer. 

“Your arrival has officially terminated Operation Payback. I can only beg you not reveal my identity until after I have departed the squadron. My current orders have me leaving on Saturday morning after graduation,” Jon finished.

Special Agent Richards sat staring at Jon. He blinked slowly before regaining his ability to speak. “Um, yeah. I can’t make promises, but I will need to confiscate your computer. To tell you the truth, I have already heard about the practical joker, but… I mean… Wow! A trainee? I am impressed. I’ll let my superiors know that the joker has been identified and poses no security risk to the president. But I will have to tell them who you are.”

Jon grinned, “I don’t mind the Secret Service knowing. I just don’t want you to tell the squadron until after I’m gone. Retribution and all that.”

“I might be able to manage that.”

“Good, then let’s get off this roof before we are both turned into Texas toast,” Jon said, taking control once again.

Jon packed up the computer and his other illicit gear into a backpack before leading the agent back to the fire escape outside of his dorm. Out of habit, he scanned the parking lot before jumping down. He set the computer bag down and helped the agent back onto the safety of the fire escape. Then they both crept back into the dorm. Once back inside, Jon re-enabled the door alarm and handed the computer bag to the agent.

“One last thing, I believe that Chief Harriman at Cheyenne Mountain has a complete list of everyone who plans on attending the graduation for me. So, did you need anything else, Special Agent Richards?” Jon asked with a grin, escorting the agent back to the office.

The agent just shook his head and grabbed his briefcase. “No, thank you, Trainee O’Neill. I know where to find you if I think of anything,” he replied and made his way to the dorm exit.

Jon let out a long breath as the door closed behind the secret service agent. He felt restless and he couldn’t stand to be cooped up in the dorm anymore. 

The interview, or more to the point, the half information he got out of the interview, had him worried about the state of the world and his friends. He needed to think and he couldn’t do that here. Thinking required space and privacy. 

Without giving it further thought, Jon grabbed his hat and signed out of the dorm to go to the BX. 

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

Jon arrived at the BX too soon to settle his thoughts. Wandering down the isles, he found many items that he could have used to perpetuate his pranks, but they now just served to remind him that he was no longer free to pull those pranks.

Free. Freedom. So few people could truly value freedom the way he did. Teal’c understood, and Jack of course, but so few others truly understood what it meant to be free. And for this reason, they failed to appreciate how hard it was for him to willingly give up that freedom. Playing pranks may have seemed like an abuse of his talents, but it had served to remind him that he was free. That he had made a choice to be here. 

Lost in thought, Jon wandered out of the BX. He raised his face to the sun and closed his eyes. He allowed the sun to caress his face and hopefully sear away his meandering thoughts. He knew that he couldn’t do anything about the dangers in the galaxy from here. But the knowledge didn’t ease his frustration. He was startled from his thoughts by a vaguely familiar voice coming from behind him.

“As I live and breathe. Col. O’Neill, how the hell have you been?”

Jon had turned to acknowledge the voice without thought. It was only as he recognized the face that went with the voice that he remembered. He wasn’t Jack. Pain briefly flashed across his face as he acknowledged, once again, that he was not who he remembered.

With great reluctance, he greeted his old flying commander as a stranger, “I’m sorry, Sir. Were you speaking to me?”

Jon watched as the warm friendly face of retired General Tom Topanish changed from greeting to embarrassment. “Actually, son, I thought I was speaking to someone else. You bear him a remarkable resemblance... I don’t suppose you know a Jack O’Neill, do you? He was Air Force, once upon a time. Damn fine officer. Went by the call-sign Space Ghost when he flew. Though he later changed it to Coyote when he became a STO...” The elderly general smiled as he recalled Jack from an earlier day. “He was a bit of a maverick, ol’ Space Ghost. Always up to mischief and dragging his poor friend with him into trouble… What was his name?... Capwell?... Ah, it doesn’t matter. He’ll always be Indian Boy to me…” The general chuckled, “He always hated that name…”

As the General lapsed into silence, remembering, Jon took his chance and replied, “Actually, Sir, Jack O’Neill is my uncle.”

The old general gave him a warm smile. “I should hope you were related. You’re the spitting image of him, back in the day. I had the privilege of commanding that rascal’s flying squadron. Ah, he was one hell of a pilot. Nothing with wings that he couldn’t fly… It’s a shame that he decided to try out for Special Forces… and then to go dragging his friend along with him… Yeah, well, after that crash, he was hell bent on it. Nothing I could say would change his mind.” The general pulled himself out of his memories to give Jon a welcoming look, “I don’t suppose you could tell me what he’s up to now, could you?”

Jon smiled back at the kindly man he remembered so fondly, “Of course, Sir.” 

“Ack! And no more of that, young man. I retired to get away from all that crap. It’s just Tom now. You can say ‘Tom,’ can’t you?”

Jon grinned and replied, “Yes, Sir!”

“Impertinent whelp!... Ah, the youth of today have no respect for their elders,” the general lamented to no one in particular.

Jon laughed at the general’s antics and replied, “Jack survived his wild youth to eventually rise to the rank of Major General. He is currently wasting away from boredom behind a desk at the Pentagon.”

“You don’t say,” the elderly general replied. “I guess I wasn’t the only one to see through his immature façade then. Humph, I bet he didn’t take the promotion all that well. He always was one stubborn S. O. B. Thinking he would live forever…” Once more, the general lapsed into his memories. 

Shaking himself free once again, the general turned back to Jon. He gave a small smiled before continuing, “I used to keep tabs on him. It was hard, once he started doing the top secret missions, but I tried. Then I lost track of him, back in 1991, it was. A few years after that, I retired. It’s good to know that he is doing so well.”

Jon smiled back. 

“Well, son, I have taken up enough of your time. You have a nice evening… I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

Jon laughed, “Jon O’Neill, Sir, at your service.”

“Well, young Jon. You have a nice evening.” 

“Thank you, Sir.”

The elderly general waved and walked slowly away from Jon, smiling as he once again slipped into his memories. 

Jon remembered many of those same bitter-sweet memories. It had been a good time in Jack’s life. General Topanish, then a Colonel, had taken good care of his people. Jack had learned a lot about leadership under his guidance. Lessons that Jack, and Jon, continued to use. 

Jon sighed and checked the time. He still had several hours before he was due back at the squadron. Deciding he wasn’t quite ready to face his Flight-mates, Jon started walking, his thoughts turning inward, to a time when aliens and clones were the product of Sci-Fi horror flicks and not his reality. He was so focused on his thoughts and memories that he failed to notice TSgt Vega watching him.

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

TSgt Vega had stopped by the BX with two purposes. First, to pick up some much needed toiletries for home; Second, to check up on his trainees. He was pretty sure that between the exhaustion left over from Fourth WOT’s exercise and the Secret Service interviews, that his trainees wouldn’t pull any stupid stunts. But it never hurt to check. An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure, or some such.

Having located and purchased his soap and razors, TSgt Vega proceeded to casually stroll through the BX. He located several of his trainees wandering the isles looking at items with no real interest, just happy to be out of the dorm. Two more were in the communications booth, calling home most likely. Five more were in the walkway, trying to decide where to go next. He gave that group a warning look and nod just in-case they were planning something. 

With both of his missions accomplished, TSgt Vega headed out to the parking lot. He had just cleared the doors when he heard, “As I live and breathe. Col. O’Neill, how the hell have you been?” He snapped his eyes up, just in time to see his Dorm Chief turn to greet the elderly gentleman. 

He didn’t intend to eavesdrop on the conversation. He had intended to move on to his car in the parking lot. But the whole conversation had him frozen in place. Though the kid smiled and laughed at the old man’s jokes, TSgt Vega suspected that, for some odd reason, O’Neill was saddened by the whole conversation. 

Odder still, not once did the Dorm Chief ask the old man who he was. The old gentleman didn’t seem to know the O’Neill kid, just his uncle. Yet, it was obvious to TSgt Vega that the kid recognized the old man and remembered him fondly. A friend that, for whatever reason, he could not acknowledge. 

As the old man said his good-byes, TSgt Vega once again pondered how little he knew of the O’Neill kid. Hell, he knew more about the kid’s uncle than he did about the kid. 

Why was this kid here in Basic Training? He already had the discipline, training, and skills needed in any military service. He was not only familiar with combat, but comfortable, eerily so, in a combat environment. He was conditioned to respond to an attack. He oozed the qualities of a natural born leader. He could motivate the most stubborn trainee to excellence. Picture perfect drill. Photographic memory. Comfortable in almost any environment.

The more he looked at the facts, the less sense they made. If O’Neill had been anything but seventeen, worldly experience might have accounted for some of the discipline. But he wasn’t. Nothing in his record showed anything but a normal childhood. Granted, the record was pretty sketchy until his uncle took custody two years ago. 

But still, nothing in that record could explain why the President of the United States wanted to come to his graduation; Why his uncle was sending foreign civilians to observe Warrior Week; Why the trainee in question would look nostalgically at an old man as he reminisced on the ‘good old days;’ Or why the young kid would have nightmares triggered by the feeling of confinement.

TSgt Vega continued to watch as the kid frowned and checked his watch. Then nodded and started walking away from the squadron area. Curious, he followed a discreet distance behind. 

The kid walked slowly as if lost in thought. When he finally made it to the aircraft static display, he changed course and wandered among the aircraft. TSgt Vega watched as the trainee greeted each of the aircraft silently. Some made him smile, while others made him frown, as if the memories they brought back were not pleasant. Finally, the trainee disappeared into a hidden spot behind the wall next to the SR-71. 

TSgt Vega was tempted to wander over and see if the trainee was alright. But something held him back. He finally decided that it was the way the kid had greeted the aircraft. This was a private place to the trainee. A place to reflect and to think. TSgt Vega didn’t feel comfortable intruding quite yet. Not just to satisfy his curiosity. 

With his decision made, TSgt Vega turned around and walked slowly back to his car thinking about what he had seen and heard. 

He was nearly halfway back when he remembered that the old gentleman had referred to O’Neill’s uncle as ‘Coyote.’ Chief Gunderson had said something similar just the day before. Something about ‘Coyote’ pulling one over on him. 

Maybe the weirdness surrounding the kid was due to his uncle. Maybe the kid was being overshadowed by the General and that’s what’s causing the headache TSgt Vega had been experiencing since Zero Week. And maybe I’m going crazy and just don’t know it yet. 

Now, that’s a comforting thought.

ENOUGH! Time to get back to reality. 

TSgt Vega climbed into his car and returned to the squadron. He checked in with CQ then took a quick visit to the dorm. All was well. Reassured, he headed home for the evening. 

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

The next few days were a blur of activity. Each morning the Flight pushed through PC trying to beat their best times and to get back into the routine after Warrior Week. Breakfast was quickly followed by several hours of drill practice. The Flight paid extra attention to the maneuvers now that they knew the President would be watching. 

Drill was followed by lunch, which was followed by classes. The trainees went through wearing the uniform, Career Progression, Quality Air Force, Ethics, Military Citizenship, Air Force Organization, and Air Force History with little transition or breaks. Following classes, dinner was the only leisurely time they were allowed; mainly because, each evening was spent cleaning, studying, and perfecting their military appearance. 

TSgt Vega had been right about the pace. It was a constant grind from reveille to taps. Now, without the daily prank announcements and practical jokes, the trainees had few ways to relieve their stress. As a result, tempers were flaring. 

By Wednesday, Jon had stopped three arguments just before fists had started to fly. Jon had almost let the last one go, except he couldn’t think of a way to explain a broken nose and a couple of black eyes. 

The whole Flight all needed a break before something serious happened. But Jon was at a loss for what he could do within the restrictions of BMT. All his ideas to date were shot down for being too unorthodox or just down right silly. Definitely nothing official.

Not that having pizza delivered to the dorm was strictly forbidden, so much as frowned upon. Though Jon was seriously considering sneaking a clown in to do balloon animals. Who wouldn’t be cheered up by balloon animals?

Finally, on Wednesday evening, he’d had it. The Flight was once again, re-inspecting their lockers. And once again, two of his Flight-mates were arguing about the exact spacing of the hangers in the locker in question. Arguing really loudly. His patience snapped.

“That’s it!” Jon shouted over the two, using his command voice. “Everyone to the dayroom NOW!”

Everyone around him stared in shock, frozen in place. “MOVE IT!” he added.

Jon waited until the last of the trainees fled into the dayroom. He stood just outside the door trying to figure out a way to change the mood of his Flight. They were all tense and frustrated. Hell, STRESSED! They needed a long soak and good laugh. 

That’s it! 

Jon grinned as he thought of a good way to pull it off. Plan firmly in place, Jon schooled his features into his most severe frown and stormed into the dayroom.

He marched up to the podium and glared at everyone in the room. Only guilty and defiant looks were returned.

Maintaining his serious face, he angrily asked, “What kinds of fish can’t swim?”

Jon continued to glare about the room as his Flight-mates tried to make sense of the question. Finally, Ruso broke and asked, “What?”

“What kinds of fish can’t swim? It’s really not that hard a question.”

“Um… Dorm Chief…”

“Just answer the damn question!” Jon almost couldn’t contain himself. His grin threatening to break free.

“I… uh… don’t know,” Skoke finally stated. “What kinds of fish can’t swim?”

Jon finally broke and smiled, “Dead ones. Now, why are gold fish red?”

The rest of the Flight acquired confused looks. But Jon could see that Skoke was finally starting to get it, “I don’t know. Why are gold fish red?” Skoke replied.

“Because the water turns them rusty. Why did the gum cross the road?”

“I don’t know. Why?” Skoke was grinning now.

“Because it was stuck to the chicken’s foot. What sort of animal is a slug?” Jon continued to shoot out the corny jokes.

“I don’t know. What kind?” Skoke was joined by a few of the others in tossing out the return line.

“A snail with a housing problem. What happens when you throw a green stone into the red sea?” Jon could see the confused looks slowly being replaced by smiles as the corny jokes started to work their magic.

“I don’t know. What?” the group chorused.

“It gets wet. Why do birds fly south for the winter?”

This time one trainee tossed out, “Because it’s too far to walk!”

“Ah, you’ve heard this one before.” The whole group chuckled, everyone was grinning openly. “Good. Now that I have your attention, I wanted to point out that the entire lot of us, myself included, have been entirely too peckish the last few days… “

The group chuckled again.

“So, I decided that we all needed a little break from reality. I was originally going to bring in a clown, but I wasn’t quite sure how to keep his bells from jingling as he climbed the stairs… Well, that and clowns are inherently evil… So, I went with Plan B. Please, one at a time, come up and share the stupidest, CLEAN, joke you have ever heard. Come on, don’t be shy. If you’re not embarrassed to shower with 50 guys, you have no reason to be up here.” Jon yielded the floor to Carson.

“Um… ah… what did the fish say when it hit its head on a brick wall?”

“What?” they chorused.

Carson gave a small grin, “Dam.”

Carson was replaced by Skoke, “If two’s company and three’s a crowd, what are four and five?”

“What?”

“Nine, of course.”

Ruso stood up, “What do you get if you cross a crocodile with a flower?”

“What?”

He shrugged, “I don’t know, but I’m sure not going to smell it!”

He sat down triumphantly among a chorus of groans. 

For the next half hour the Flight swapped bad jokes, slowly eliminating the weight of stress that had been suffocating them. Too soon, the group broke up and went back to straightening their lockers and preparing for lights out. But this time, they didn’t bicker and fight among themselves as they accomplished their tasks.

As Jon sank into his bunk, he found Skoke sitting up thinking. He grinned, “I thought you were going to save thinking for Tech School.”

Skoke returned the grin, “Nah. I was just wondering how you did it.”

“What?” Jon asked lying back on his bunk.

“How you knew that we all needed … I don’t know… Something…” He sighed as he tried to articulate his thoughts.

“Ah… That was obvious,” Jon interrupted him. “The problem wasn’t in seeing that we needed something, but rather, in figuring out what that something was. And to answer your question: laughter. It is the best medicine, after all.”

Skoke sighed as he lay back in his bunk, “Yeah, we have been a bit short on that lately. I guess it’s just this whole President thing. Everywhere we go, we are being pushed to be perfect for the President. It’s starting to get to me.”

“Ya think? Well, quite frankly, it’s starting to get to me, too. First, they take away my pranks, then they start pushing harder and harder. I don’t know. I’m just starting to feel boxed in. I don’t like feeling boxed in.” Jon sighed and threw his arm over his eyes, completely missing his bunk-mate’s startled look.

“Pranks?” Skoke whispered back.

Jon shot upright, “Crap!”

“That was you?”

Jon tried to act casual and failed miserably, “Nope. Not me. It’s all a bad dream. Nothing to see here. Ah, hell, I’m going to bed.” Jon rolled over and ignored his bunk-mate’s silent laughter. 

“Night, Dorm Chief.”

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

Jon woke up Thursday morning in a sweat, the last of his nightmare fading. Luckily, this time his Flight-mates left him alone. He got up and walked off some nervous energy then splashed cold water on his face, but the cold feeling of dread continued to plague him.

As reveille sounded, Jon tried to shake off this feeling as a remnant of his nightmare. But, all through PC and drill practice, he felt like someone was watching him. More than once, he scanned the perimeter of the parade ground trying to find the hidden danger. His fingers twitched with the need for a weapon. He was beginning to wonder if he was feeling something from someone else. 

However, as Jon spotted three men approaching the Flight from the squadron, he had mixed feelings of relief and anxiety. The group consisted of Col. Harding, CMSgt Gunderson and MSgt McCaffey, the Blue Rope TI supervisor that had caught him fighting, and they were headed directly for his Flight. 

Well, that can’t be good. And that particular combination means it’s not good for me.

“TSgt Vega, check your six,” Jon whispered loud enough for the TI to hear him.   
Jon watched as TSgt Vega glanced behind him, and then did a double take, before turning to greet the trio. “AT EASE!” he shouted over his shoulder at the Flight as he walked over to the three men.

Jon could see TSgt Vega taking quick glances in Jon’s direction as the Colonel talked. Finally, he nodded and turned away from the group.

“O’Neill, Fall Out. Report to classroom 106 after lunch. Dismissed.” TSgt turned to the rest of the Flight as Jon made his way to Col Harding’s group. “FLIGHT! A-TEN-SHUN! FOR-WARD, HARCH! 

As his Flight marched off behind him, Jon snapped to Attention in front of Col. Harding and rendered his salute, “Sir, Trainee O’Neill reports as ordered.” He waited for Col. Harding to return the salute before dropping his arm.

“Trainee, both Chief Gunderson and MSgt McCaffey have approached me, separately, mind you, concerning your future.” The Colonel turned and began to walk back to the squadron as he continued talking. “MSgt McCaffey believes that you have what it takes to become an officer. Chief Gunderson seconds that opinion, though he would personally like to see you try out for Special Operations. They both agree that you would be an ideal candidate for the Air Force Academy. From the reports I have read, I can see no reason not to take their recommendation. 

“However,” the Colonel stopped and turned to face Jon, “what I don’t understand, is why you have not already been sponsored to the Academy. And that bothers me.” 

The Colonel began to tick the reasons off his fingers, “One, you are directly related to a General in the USAF, that alone would usually get you consideration. Two, you have near perfect SAT scores and straight A’s from your high school classes, more than enough for entry into the Academy. Hell, into any university of your choice. Three, the President of the United States is coming HERE to see YOU graduate… Granted, I am partly to blame for the last. But, the point remains that he is ultimately here to see you.

“So, why are you HERE instead of THERE? I mean, surely if you wanted to be there, you already would be, right?” Col. Harding finished in a flourish, crossing his arms over his chest.

Jon almost laughed. Almost. He had a feeling that had his laugh actually escaped, Col. Harding would NOT have laughed with him. Instead, his laugh came out as clearing his throat. “Sorry, Sir. Excuse me.” MSgt McCaffey had accepted his ‘want to be here’ line, but Jon doubted that Col Harding would. It surely hadn’t worked with Meatball. He thought quickly and found that the truth, if he left off the Stargate, would work best.

“Sir, can I speak with you privately?” Jon ventured, leaving his face carefully blank.

Col. Harding narrowed his eyes, but nodded in assent. “Meet us back in my office,” he directed the two senior NCO’s. Jon waited until the other two were well out of earshot before starting.

“Colonel, I didn’t go to the Air Force Academy because it would be a waste of time. Their’s and mine. And we really don’t have that kind of time. I don’t intend to test for Special Operations for that same reason, much to Chief Gunderson’s dismay.” Jon pulled out his wallet and, with a resigned sigh, handed his copy of the new orders to the Colonel. “These orders were hand-delivered by Special Agent Richards on Sunday. I only planned on showing them to you if I was recalled sooner than my report by date.”

Col. Harding scanned the orders, and then read them closer a second time. “These orders are invalid. They got your rank wrong.”

Jon winced and gave him a wane smile, “Actually, Sir. The rank is correct. I hold the commissioned rank of Colonel, O-6. It was supposed to remain inactive until my 21st birthday, by the Order of Lt. General Hammond, approved by the Joint Chiefs. Then these orders were issued. President Hayes has superseded those original orders with this and has reactivated my commission early.”

“Why?” the Colonel’s confusion and disbelief plainly visible.

“I don’t know. I could guess…” Jon answered. Alien invasion, impending destruction of Earth, yada, yada, yada. “…But it would only be speculation. I probably won’t find out until General Landry briefs me when I report in,” Jon finished.

The Colonel shook his head, “No, I mean, why were you given the inactive rank?”

Jon blinked slowly, and then just shook his head in return, “I’m sorry, but that’s classified.” Not to mention completely unbelieveable. 

Col. Harding regarded him coolly, clearly not believing his story. “I’ll have to confirm these,” he said, waving the orders around. He turned to continued back to the office.

“Of course,” Jon replied, following the Colonel. “I just don’t want to disrupt the training any more than it already has been.”

“That won’t be a problem, Trainee,” the Colonel replied, frostily.

They finished the walk in silence. When they reached his office, Col. Harding told the Chief and the Blue Rope to wait outside. He stared at the orders before he finally asked, “How do I reach this General Landry?”

Jon suppressed a grin, “Easy, Sir, call Chief Harriman. He will be able to forward us to the General.” Jon reached over and dialed the number and handed Col. Harding the phone.

Col. Harding took the receiver and pushed the speaker phone button while watching Jon. 

“Control Room, Chief Harriman,” Jon recognized the business-like voice of his favorite Chief.

“Chief, this is Colonel Harding. I was told that you would be able to patch me through to a General Landry.”

“Um… yes, Sir… Just one minute.” Jon heard the receiver being covered by the Chief’s hand and some mumbling in the background. 

Finally, the receiver was uncovered and Jon could barely make out the distant voice of a stranger, “I don’t care. Get Col. Carter to Seattle now. I’ll take the heat.” Suddenly, the strange voice grew louder, “Landry.”

“General Landry?” the Colonel asked, to clarify.

“Yes. Who is this?”

“Colonel Harding, Sir, 322nd Training Squadron, Lackland AFB. I was calling because I have a strange set of orders in my possession,” Col Harding explained.

“And you don’t believe they’re real,” General Landry interrupted him. “I know the feeling. But if those are the orders that I am aware of, then you know that one Colonel Jonathon J. O’Neill is expected to report to me in less than two weeks. On a Saturday, I believe.”

“Uh… Yes, Sir.”

“Frankly, Colonel, the only reason you are keeping him that long is because, for some un-Godly reason, President Hayes wants to see him graduate from BMT. I don’t know why and honestly don’t care. I’m sure he has his reasons.” Jon heard the General sigh over the line as the General pulled the receiver away, “Yes, Chief?”

More mumbling could be heard in the background. 

Finally, General Landry addressed them again, “Colonel, my Chief here wants me to pass on a message to Col. O’Neill. Please relay it word for word. ‘The bocce playing snake is hiding in the backyard. Watch your step.’”

Jon paled at the coded message, but tried not to show any other reaction in front of Col Harding. Ba’al on Earth? How the hell had that happened?

Col. Harding eyed Jon suspiciously, but addressed the General, “Copy. Message will be relayed verbatim. Anything else, General?”

“Yes, actually. I need you to trust him and I need you to keep him safe until he is due to report in. Right now, your unit is the best place for him. And, Colonel, let’s just keep these orders of his between us. Got it?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Chief Harriman’s voice could be heard in the background, “Sir, Col. Carter is reporting in.”

“Thanks, Chief. Well, Colonel, I have to get going. Col. O’Neill knows how to reach me if he needs anything. It’s been a pleasure.”

“Thank you, Sir. Good-bye.” They both heard the speaker phone click off. 

Col. Harding gave Jon a speculative look, as Jon continued to stare at the speaker willing it to give him more information about what Ba’al was doing. He suddenly didn’t want to finish what he had started. Guess I understand Teal’c’s whole Jaffa revenge thing now.

“So, can you speculate now as to why the change in orders?” Col. Harding asked casually.

“Classified,” Jon stated blankly, trying to not give anything away. 

“Ah, so that message did mean something in particular,” Col Harding replied chuckling. “Don’t worry. I won’t ask. I know what classified means, even though I have a million questions.” The Colonel, no longer angry, gave a small tired sigh, “I also owe you an apology.”

Jon turned confused, “No, Sir. I would have checked the orders as well. Just SOP.”

The Colonel waved him off, “Not that, I’m afraid. No, I need to apologize for… encouraging the President to visit us.” He chuckled at Jon’s confused look. “Yes, last week I received a call. I thought it was another prank. So, I soundly thrashed the poor unfortunate on the other end and hung up on him. 

“As it turns out, the President was calling to decline the offer to visit and to pass on his congratulations to you. However, after my treatment, he changed his mind, even found a way to make it politically feasible. Imagine my surprise, when I had the President’s chosen man in my office the very next day, informing me of the change in the President’s itinerary.”

“I… how could you know? No, you don’t owe me anything,” Jon replied, feeling guilty for setting up the phone-in pranks that ultimately lead to this misunderstanding.

“I think I do. It is obvious to me that whatever is going on around General Landry is important. It is also obvious that you should be THERE, not here. But, because of me, you are stuck here catering to the President as he seeks his revenge on me. For that, I am sorry. I’m not so full of myself that I can’t admit when I’m wrong. And I fully intend to throw myself at the President’s mercy when he arrives. But in the mean time, you are stuck here paying for my crimes. An apology is the least I can do.” 

Jon nodded, still feeling guilty, “Then I accept.”

Col. Harding gave him a small smile. “Thank you. Now, just what am I to tell the two bird dogs outside,” the Colonel asked, regarding Chief Gunderson and MSgt McCaffey.

“Ah… now that one is a little more difficult. I don’t know about Sergeant McCaffey, but Chief Gunderson won’t be swayed easily.” Jon quickly contemplated his options and grinned as he found a possible solution. “How about we tell them the truth?”

Col. Harding frowned, “We tell them that you are already an officer and assigned to a mission so top secret that your rank is a secret? I don’t think that is a good idea.”

Jon grinned wider, “Nope, we tell them that you’ve taken care of it and I will be reporting to Colorado Springs the day after graduation.” 

Col. Harding’s frown slowly changed into a smile, “General Landry is in Colorado Springs?”

“Yup, at NORAD,” Jon lied.

“Huh, the truth, that just might work.”

“Yeah, who’d a thunk?”

Col. Harding seemed to shake himself, “Alright. I can handle this. You head off to lunch and report back to your Flight. I’ll inform the Chief and MSgt McCaffey that the issue is closed. Is there anything else you can think of?”

Jon hesitated. He could think of one more thing, but wasn’t quite sure how to address it. Finally, he just blurted it out, “Yes, I need a side arm.”

“WHAT?”

“I… uh… need to be armed. I can’t really explain.” Jon let out an exasperated breath. “I need you to clear it with Special Agent Richards and get me a side arm as soon as possible. He can verify the reasons with Landry.”

“Do you know what you are asking me to do?” Col. Harding asked slowly.

Jon looked him straight in the eye, “Yes, I’m asking you to trust me.”

The Colonel continued to watch him for a full minute before relenting, “Fine. I’ll talk to Special Agent Richards. Can I give him a reason?” Jon shook his head. “Great. Then send the bird dogs in on your way out. And try to look happy.”

Jon gave him a cocky salute, “Yes, Sir.” He turned and headed out at the Colonel’s chuckling. Once outside the door, Jon gave Chief Gunderson and MSgt McCaffey a big grin, “He’ll see you now, Sirs.” Jon watched them disappear into the office, before he turned and left the CQ. 

Well, that ought to keep Chief Gunderson off his back for a few years. And by then, hopefully, it won’t matter any more. Smiling, Jon headed off to the dining facility.

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

By the time Jon rejoined his Flight, his good humor had fled and his earlier dread had returned. He could no longer attribute the bad feeling to his nightmares. Not unless he was in a waking nightmare.

Ba’al was on Earth. Ba’al was free to wreak havoc on THIS planet. And Jon was being told, in no uncertain terms, to stay put and wait safely in the sidelines. 

Wait for what? For Ba’al to attack? For Ba’al to use the whole ‘kneel before your god’ line? For Ba’al to try to use Jon or someone Jon cared for as leverage against Earth?

Surely, Landry had read the reports. He must have seen that O’Neill doesn’t cower in the dark from a snake. Especially, not THAT snake.

The only good news Jon had gleaned was that Carter was on it. That must be why she had been ‘gone.’ She was out hunting snakes. Jon had faith in few things, but Sam Carter was not only one of them, she was at the top of the list.

In fact, Sam was the only reason he was currently sitting in the back of a classroom, slowly going crazy. He didn’t want to mess up Sam’s plan. If Sam needed him, she would tell him. He just had to be patient and wait.

Unfortunately, patience was not one of his many virtues. Stealth and skill, yes. Patience in stalking a kill, yes. Patience for someone else to stalk the kill, hell no. 

But he would wait. He wouldn’t like it, but he could do it. Even if it did kill him. 

As the young Airman from Finance finished his lecture on fiscal management and balancing a checkbook (FINALLY!), Jon truly felt like his head would explode if he didn’t move soon. So, before TSgt Vega could say ‘take a five minute break,’ Jon was up and on his way outside. Of course, that just allowed him to demonstrate his agitation by pacing back and forth along the edge of the patio.

“Trainee O’Neill,” TSgt Vega’s voice roused Jon from his obsession.

He turned and faced the TI, “Yes, Sir?”

“Is there something wrong that I was not aware of?” the TI asked quietly. 

Jon stopped and considered his actions from the TI’s point of view, then winced, “No, Sir… Well, yes, there is something wrong, but it has nothing to do with anything going on here… at Lackland… so… no,” he finished lamely.

“Ah… at home then?”

Well, yeah, kinda, sorta, in more of a global view of Earth as home, kind of way, “You could say that, Sir.”

“You need to talk about it?”

Um… not with you, “No, Sir. I… uh… I just need to work through it.” You know, bit the bullet, suck it up, accept that this is one mission that I am not on. I wonder if this is how Sarah felt when I was on a mission? “I’ll be fine, Sir.”

“Let me know if you change your mind.”

“Thank you, Sir. I will,” Jon replied.

As TSgt Vega left, Skoke and Ruso walked up. “So, what’s going on, O’Neill?”

Jon laughed, “More like, what isn’t going on.” Jon gave them a pathetic grin, “Worse, I can’t talk about any of it.”

“Why not?”

“Oh, just the general classified nature of the whole mess… or is that messes? ... Let’s just say that I’m having a bad day, bad week really, and leave it at that.”

“A bad day?” Ruso clarified. “Like I’ll believe that one, top dog. You gotta try alot harder than that.”

“A really, really bad day?” Jon ventured.

Both his Flightmates snorted at his little joke.

“Come on, at least tell us what the Chief of the PJ’s wanted,” Ruso begged.

Jon smiled and threw him a bone, “Same thing he has wanted since he found out I was here, for me to join Special Ops.”

“Sweet! Skoke, our boy here got a special invite to the PJ’s.”

Skoke continued to eye him, “Still not taking it, huh?”

Jon smiled. Of all his Flight-mates, Skoke was the only one to see right through him, “Nope.”

“What? Are you nuts? The PJ’s are the best, man. How can you not go?” Ruso exclaimed.

Jon gave him a secretive smile, “I got a better offer. Oh look, time to go back in.”

“Oh, that is so bogus, man. You ain’t going to tell us, are you?” Ruso returned, following Jon back into the classroom.

“Nope.” Jon took his seat and tried hard not to think about Ba’al

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

When the last class for the day ended, TSgt Vega had the group remain seated as a new Blue Rope, MSgt Morris, took the podium. “Good afternoon, Flight. I just wanted to pass along my congratulations. While you were here studying, your dorm was inspected by the Red-Line Inspection Team. While a few discrepancies were found, you all passed. In fact, you did so well that it is my honor to name you an ‘Honor Flight’ for the 322nd Training Squadron.” He stepped back to present TSgt Vega with the bright ribbon for the guidon, as the Flight cheered and yelled. 

The ribbon was soon attached to the guidon. TSgt Vega made a gesture for quiet and the group fell silent. “On behalf of Flight 1342, thank you, MSgt Morris.”

MSgt Morris nodded and quietly picked his way out of the classroom. 

TSgt Vega got the Flight’s attention once again, “Alright, you ladies know the drill. Trainee Skoke, I want you to ensure the Flight gets up to the dorm and back down to chow on time. Trainee O’Neill and I are to report to CQ. Any questions?... Good. FALL OUT!”

The group exited the classroom as Jon stood up to wait for TSgt Vega. He received several questioning looks from his Flight-mates, but ignored them. Once TSgt Vega reached him, he gave a grim nod and followed the TI to the CQ office.

The CQ sergeant didn’t even wait for them to make it all the way down to his desk before he directed them to Col. Harding’s office.

Once inside, Jon nodded greeting to Special Agent Richards and Col. Harding. TSgt Vega addressed the Colonel directly as they both snapped salutes, “Sir, TSgt Vega and Trainee O’Neill report as ordered.” 

“At ease, Sergeant. O’Neill, Special Agent Richards has approved your request.” Jon grinned. “I only ask that you be discreet. Weapons are common in the squadron, but bullets are not. Without bullets, they are just expensive clubs. TSgt Vega, due to circumstances outside of our realm of responsibility, Trainee O’Neill has been authorized to carry a side arm at all times. Don’t ask. I doubt you’ll get an answer. Trainee?”

Jon stepped forward and accepted the gun box from Special Agent Richards. As he quickly checked and cleared the weapon, he shotguned several questions at the agent without thinking, “Am I a primary target or a target of opportunity?”

“Most likely the latter, as far as I was informed, you should be off the radar. This is just in case they’re wrong. With the increased security due to the Presidential visit, you are likely safer here than at the mountain,” the agent replied. “Unfortunately, that same visit may bring you back onto their radar. Sorry.”

“And Jack?”

“Unhappy in a bunker at the President’s request.”

“Damn. Hard to think that I got the better end of the deal. Spares?” Jon asked, after only seeing one magazine. He slid the pistol in the holster and clipped it to the small of his back, then straightened out his BDU shirt.

“How many?”

“Two. If it takes more than two, I’m already lost.” The agent handed him two spare magazines from his shoulder rig. “Can you give me anything else? I’m dying here,” Jon asked, begging for more detail.

Special Agent Richards glanced around the room and replied cautiously, “Only that he wants sanctuary and has been refused.”

Jon took a deep breath and counted to ten, trying to contain his sudden rage. Then he counted to ten again. Oh, what the hell! Keeping a tight reign on his control, Jon carefully spun and punched the door.

Ow, ow, ow! The solid oak door failed to react to his attack, but the pain seemed to calm him down. He turned shaking his hand, “Thanks, that helped. Keep me informed.” Jon turned back to Col. Harding and TSgt Vega who were watching him in shock.

Col. Harding nodded, “Can I ask why now, or do I have to wait until someone shoots up my squadron?” Col. Harding looked straight into Jon’s eyes, as he continued to flex his hand painfully.

Jon sighed, “It’s classified. All I can give you is what you have already heard.” Jon shrugged, “Sorry.”

“Fine. I’ll have to go back to trusting you. Don’t make me regret it.” Col. Harding waved them off, effectively dismissing them. 

TSgt Vega followed Jon out in a shocked daze. Jon made sure to match his pace, as if nothing were wrong. Half way back to the dorm, the sergeant spun on him angrily.

“Just what-in-the-hell is going on? Who-the-hell are you?”

Jon gave him a grim face, “I am the same person you knew thirty minutes ago. I’m your Dorm Chief and a trainee in your Flight.”

“Weapons are not allowed in the squadron area. Not even little pocket knives. EVER! How the hell did you get authorization to not only bring a loaded gun into the squadron, but to carry it constantly?” TSgt Vega asked in a tightly controlled whisper.

Jon sighed, “Through the Secret Service and General Landry.”

“And just who-the-hell is General Landry?” TSgt Vega’s anger was starting to get the better of his control. 

Jon winced, “Classified.”

“Bullshit!”

“Sorry, but it’s the truth. Ask Col. Harding.”

TSgt Vega continued to glare at Jon. “I don’t have a choice. But my trainees had better not receive a single scratch, or so help me…”

Jon just nodded, noting his exclusion from the group. “You have my word.”

“I just hope your word is worth something. Get back to the dorm. Dismissed!”

Jon continued on to the dorm alone. TSgt Vega had veered off in another direction taking his anger with him. Jon stopped in front of the dorm door as the last of his anger drained away from him. The weight of 30 years of combat experience wearing him down. Now, he was just tired.

Imagine that. Too tired to be pissed at Ba’al.

He knocked on the door, showed his ID, and entered the dorm with resignation.

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

TSgt Vega stalked away from the dorm. He was angry and afraid. 

He was angry with Col. Harding for blindsiding him in the meeting. TSgt Vega had been under the impression that the O’Neill kid was being recommended for sponsorship to the Air Force Academy. At least that is what Col. Harding had wanted to talk to him about earlier today.

So, TSgt Vega had not been surprised when Col. Harding had asked for him and the kid again this afternoon. It would make sense to inform the kid as soon as possible if he was going to be selected or not.

But instead of a nice happy meeting, with a bright future for the kid in it, he had watched, to his horror, as a totally different meeting took place. 

First, he was told that the kid was going to be carrying a loaded pistol with him. He had been shocked. Aside from empty M-16’s, nothing that looked like a weapon was allowed in the squadron. Hell, even M-16 magazines were banned, just in case they held spare rounds, smuggled from the range. As a TI, it was his responsibility to ensure this ban was strictly enforced for the safety of all trainees. 

Then he had heard the cool, calm words that froze the blood in his veins. ‘Am I a primary target or a target of opportunity’ the kid had asked. The kid took it for granted that someone was trying to kill him AND had treated it like an everyday occurrence. Watching the kid inspect and holster that pistol with practiced, smooth movements nearly stopped his heart. He had wanted to scream and rage that he was just a kid. But he had been frozen in shock and fear. 

What the hell had they done to this kid to make him so unafraid of his own death? To take an assassin’s bullet in stride? That a kid with so much promise and a full life in front of him could be so used… it was unthinkable, unimaginable.

This was not some dirt-ball country without any human rights, torn apart by war. This base was not some backwater town with no ethics and an excess of inbreeding. Things like this did not happen here. 

This was the United States of America, home of the FREE, land of the brave. We don’t brainwash our military into mindless drones. We are the ones that put an end to those practices. No one anywhere should be training a kid to so calmly accept death like that. It is immoral and unacceptable.

But it had been done. And the evidence that his own government, the United States of America, were the ones to do it, was right before his eyes. The President knew about it. Had allowed it to happen. Sanctioned it, even. Hell, the kid’s own flesh and blood not only knew about it but seemed to condone it. 

And now they were dragging him into their little ‘project.’… It was betrayal in its worst form, asking him to use the trust he had earned from his trainees in such a way. To perpetuate the lie that they were safe here under his care. 

TSgt Vega had never been more proud than the day he was appointed to Lackland to become a TI. In his opinion, it was the highest honor to be entrusted with the newest of the Air Force. To be the one to change these young men and women from individuals into Airmen. It was a trust that he didn’t take lightly. He would not shirk in his duties and continually enforced that same standard on his peers. 

But now he was being asked to betray that trust. To allow danger to come to his trainees. To put them at risk. 

And for what? 

That was the real question. What was so classified that Col. Harding had to trust the word of a trainee? What was so classified that the Secret Service would not only allow, but actually issue, a loaded weapon to ANYONE when they were going to be in the presence of the President? What was so important that they trusted a green kid, no matter how skilled, more than trained, experienced adults? 

TSgt Vega stopped walking and found himself in the aircraft static display. Had it only been this last Sunday that he had watched the kid among the aircraft? It seemed like longer. Like a lifetime.

TSgt Vega wandered among the old war birds, taking note of planes he had been stationed with. Planes he had listened to his father talk about. Planes he had hoped to see in the air. He greeted each airframe like he had seen the kid greet them. He welcomed them as old friends.

Slowly the cold knot of fear in his gut unclenched. He had liked the kid. Trusted him not only to do the right thing, but to take care of the other trainees. He realized that at some point, he stopped seeing the Dorm Chief as just another trainee and more as a comrade, an equal.

What had changed? The kid had always been competent and knowledgeable. Steady under the constant pressure that BMT exerted on the trainees. Stable and rational. 

Perhaps those very qualities lulled him into complacency. The signs had all been there. The way the kid handled the M-16 was a clear sign. How he reacted to the 3 day exercise and the sounds of combat. Hell, even the nightmares were a sign that this one was different. He had even suspected that the kid had a violent past.

What changed?

TSgt Vega found the little niche behind the wall next to the SR-71. He ducked down and lay down in the quiet spot and smiled. The angle allowed him to see only the nearby aircraft and the clear sky, providing the perfect illusion of flying. It was a truly magical spot. 

As he allowed the peaceful spot to seep into his soul, he realized what was different, what had changed. In the Colonel’s office, for the first time, he had seen the eyes of a killer in the face of a child. 

He was afraid of the kid and for the kid. And he was angry that ‘someone’ had turned this kid, not even old enough to vote, into a killer. He felt betrayed by his country, that they could condone such a thing. He almost wished that he could go back and remain ignorant. Ignorance truly was bliss.

But he was also angry at the kid for fooling him. For so effectively duping him into thinking he was just another trainee with some extra coaching. He didn’t think that he could stop and ‘trust him,’ as the Colonel had said, quite so easily.

TSgt Vega got up and started the long walk back to the dorm. He was angry. He wouldn’t get over that quite so easily. But could he trust the kid to do the right thing? Maybe. 

Nothing that TSgt Vega had seen so far suggested that he couldn’t trust the kid. If anything, the kid had proven he could be trusted many times over. But TSgt Vega couldn’t let go of his anger. Couldn’t trust quite so easily yet. 

He could accept that about himself. It was okay to be angry and feel betrayed. He needed to be angry. But could he be fair?

TSgt Vega gave himself a grim smile, not at the moment. He needed time. He needed to watch. He needed to reassure himself that the kid was not some kind of sociopath. And to do that, he needed to be with his Flight.

TSgt Vega climbed the steps to the dorm and entered after showing his ID. He walked around and checked on the Flight. They were in their final preparations for bed. Everything seemed normal. In fact, the only abnormal thing was TSgt Vega himself. But, he couldn’t bring himself to leave them. Not yet. 

TSgt Vega felt slightly ashamed when, as a final insult to the kid, he settled down to bunk in the office. It was something he hadn’t done in the last two weeks. But, he couldn’t trust the kid again so soon. This was his Flight, his responsibility, and he had to make sure they were safe. 

TSgt Vega resigned himself to a long restless night, as taps finally sounded.

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

Friday dawned in much the same way as Thursday; nightmares, reveille, and PC. Breakfast quickly followed and then off to practice drill, again. Jon continued to feel anxious and scanned the areas around him. It helped that he knew what the threat was. It also helped to feel the cold weight of the pistol in the small of his back. He had stopped jumping at shadows in favor of searching for rogue Jaffa and the glowing eyes on Ba’al’s smarmy face. 

Jon was jumpy and he knew it. He needed to get more news about Ba’al, good or bad. But realistically, he knew that he wouldn’t hear anything until long after the last shot was fired. He wasn’t at the top of the list for knowing. And not knowing was driving him batty. 

He also didn’t like the looks TSgt Vega kept throwing him. Yes, he was armed, but he wasn’t about to go on a shooting spree. He’d gone out of his way to be extra discreet. Never once, letting the pistol leave his possession, or allow the other trainees to know he had it, let alone the ammunition, even in the shower. And wasn’t that an interesting experience.

Anyway, his Flightmates had noticed that both Jon and TSgt Vega were acting odd. Jon had already deflected several inquiries about the problem and he was sure that both Skoke and Ruso would be asking again fairly soon. 

Drill practice this morning had been … weird. But TSgt Vega seemed to be working out his issues. Towards the end of practice, he was almost back to normal. 

To be honest, Jon couldn’t blame TSgt Vega for being angry. Training was a delicate time. Weapons were banned to prevent the trainees from taking their stress and frustration out on themselves or each other. Well, effective weapons anyway. The weapons ban didn’t seem to include the M-16 rifles that half the trainees were required to carry. They must not have been considered a threat since they didn’t have any ammo. Well, like the Colonel said, expensive clubs. 

But the intent behind the ban was still valid. Suicide attempts were uncommon, but not unheard of. And that was without the benefit of sharp pointy objects and high velocity projectiles.

And here he was, bringing in a loaded gun, with no real explanation or reassurances. He knew exactly what could happen if the gun were mishandled or got into the wrong hands. That was precisely why he spent extra time trying to safeguard the pistol and ammo. 

And it seemed that TSgt Vega had noticed his efforts. At least, the angry glares had changed to gruff looks. Now, he just had to hold off his Flight-mates’ questions and hold on to his sanity until Ba’al was dead and gone… or something like that. Joy!

Now, having completed the second written test, he was free once again to dwell on Ba’al. Or try not to, as the case may be. His Flight had just returned from taking the second test and were now killing time in the dorm, waiting for the results. Jon had staked out a corner of the dayroom, seated by himself, brooding.

Skoke wandered into the dayroom and perched on the window sill beside Jon, but didn’t try to draw him into a conversation. They sat in silence for several minutes before Jon finally had to comment. 

“You might as well ask.”

Skoke grinned, “Ask what?”

Jon dropped his voice to mimic his bunk-mate, “Why the gloomy face? What’s wrong? Who stepped on your cat? Blah, blah, blah. Ya know,” he gestured.

“Oh that… I figured you wouldn’t answer anyway, so I just skipped that part and went right to the uncomfortable silence,” Skoke snarked back.

Jon snorted, “Good one.” They sat in the quiet once again, grinning at each other. 

This time Skoke spoke first, “So, what do you think is bothering TSgt Vega?”

Jon lost his grin, “Uh… that would be me.”

Skoke shook his head, “Well, what ever you did, he sure doesn’t trust you anymore. Are they going to recycle you or something?”

Jon shook his head, “No, nothing like that.”

Skoke dropped his voice to a quiet whisper, “They didn’t find out that you’re the prankster, did they?”

Jon laughed out loud, “No. Absolutely not! If they knew that, I would be recycled, President or no... Nah, he’s pissed at me and I’m pissed at the unfairness of the universe. But, we’ll both get over it in time.” 

“If you say so. I just hope you get to graduate with us. It wouldn’t be the same without our Dorm Chief. You’re like our lucky charm,” Skoke added slyly. “So, are you going to tell me why the universe is unfair?” he asked seriously.

Jon grinned, “Nope.”

“Didn’t think so. But, hey, it was worth a shot.” They both turned towards the dayroom door. They could hear the dorm guard challenging someone, most likely TSgt Vega. “Looks like show time,” Skoke commented.

“Yup… I think I’ll just hang out in the back. No need remind him that I…” Jon stopped and stared at the figure in the doorway. He couldn’t help but grin foolishly. LtCol Sam Carter stood framed in the doorway, smiling. 

“Carter?”

She continued to smile as she walked up to him, “Jon. You look good.”

“Thanks… What cha’ doin’?” he asked looking up at her as she towered over him.

She laughed. “Sorry, but… never mind. Can we go somewhere more private?” She gestured to the doorway where at least ten curious trainees could be seen peeking in. 

“Carter, you’re giving the children ideas,” Jon teased. 

He was rewarded with a bright blush. Grinning he held out his hand. She pulled him to his feet. 

“Well, my dear Colonel, perhaps we should retire to the instructor’s office.” He was rewarded by a second blush.

“Uh, sure,” she stammered.

Jon continued to grin as he bellowed, “MAKE A HOLE!” His Flight-mates scurried out of the way. “Don’t mind them. They’re barely housebroken.” Jon gestured to the gap and directed her to the TI’s office.

Once inside, with the door safely closed, he gestured for her to take the chair. “So, what’s the news, Carter? And remember that the walls have ears.” He gestured to the door.

“Right. Did you get the message from Walter?” She asked, carefully.  
“Yes.”

“Good… Um, he was hiding on … here… and he had been busy.”

Jon sighed, “Carter, you can be a little less cryptic. I doubt the kids will understand anyway.”

“Right… sorry.” She took a deep breath and tried again. “Ba’al has Asgard cloning technology and has been making good use of it. He’s had his clones infiltrate the Trust and several major global corporations. We would have continued to be ignorant of his presence, if the Free Jaffa had not tipped their hand.” She stopped as she saw his gesture to hurry up, “To make a long story short, the Jaffa killed one copy and we think the clones have left Earth, but we have no way of confirming that. Agent Barrett is leading the clean up of what’s left of the Trust.”

Jon narrowed his eyes, “Ba’al clones. That’s just wrong on so many levels. I feel… unclean.” He sighed and rubbed his hand over his eyes. “I take it things are back to the usual…” he gestured around.

“Circus? Oh, yeah.”

“Oh, good,” he replied, with little enthusiasm. “Well, we’d better…” he again gestured to the door.

“Yeah,” she answered.

Jon stood up and opened the door to the grinning faces of his Flightmates. He smiled and shook his head, “So sorry to disappoint you all. Now, if you’ll please pick up your jaws and give Colonel Carter some room… Thank you.” 

Jon escorted her to the door. “Thanks for the news, Sam. Tell Daniel, Mitchell, and Vala to take care.” He turned back when she suddenly stopped.

“They didn’t tell you?” she asked.

Jon’s eyes narrowed, “Tell me what… exactly?”

Sam looked down, suddenly uncomfortable. “I thought they told you… Vala went missing earlier this week.”

“Carter… missing how?... Like a favorite cat wandering off? Or like… Kanan…” he could barely finish the thought. Ba’al had been on his mind a lot lately and inevitably when he thought of Ba’al, he dwelled on the missing Kanan. Lost… presumed dead… no body… most likely MIA forever.

Sam looked up with a pained expression, “Like Kanan.”

“Ah...” he said quietly. “How’s Daniel handling it?” Jon asked trying to deflect the conversation in a new direction. The whole Kanan episode was too close to the surface, especially with Ba’al still on the loose.

“Worse than I expected, considering how he treated her,” she replied, as they started walking to the door again.

“Carter, this is Daniel we’re talking about. He feels bad when he sees someone kill a fly… Vala was considerably more likeable than a fly,” Jon stated with affection. “He’ll be okay. Just keep an eye on him. You’re staying at the Mountain for a bit, right?”

Sam gave him another small smile, “Yeah, it … ah… actually looks like I’ll be around for the near future.”

“Well, that’s good, right?” he tried to console her.

“Yeah, somebody has to keep Daniel from touching stuff. It looks like Teal’c will be staying as well,” she added, “so I’ll have backup.”

“Well, that can’t be good.”

“What?! When I come back it’s good, but when Teal’c comes back it’s bad? Some kind of double standard you got going there, Jon,” she ranted at him, good naturedly.

Jon laughed, “They call you back to fix things, like, all the time. Not to mention that you have to go. Orders and all. But Teal’c…” he lost his smile. “You got me worried about the big guy now.”

Finally at the door, Sam turned to face him. “Don’t worry. Teal’c is a rock, remember… Besides, I’ll be there to look out for him as well.” She nodded to the dorm guard and he opened the door. “Take care, Jon. See you next week.”

Jon lifted one hand in good-bye, “Thanks, Sam. Keep ‘em safe for me.”

“Always,” was her only reply.

As the door closed, the cat-calls began. Jon just shook his head and pushed his way through the crowd back to the dayroom. But any thoughts of peace and quiet were discarded by the multitude of questions and comments tossed in his direction by his Flight-mates. All of them about a certain tall, leggy blonde.

Finally, he was saved by the return of TSgt Vega. The short Flight meeting that followed only proved that TSgt Vega still hadn’t quite got past his anger yet. He passed on the information that all the trainees had passed the written exam, and then began to berate the Flight about the general state of the dorm. The whole evening was spent polishing and spit-shining every surface that could be reached. 

But when the evening was finally done, TSgt Vega left the dorm and allowed the trainees to sleep without his supervision. Jon accepted that little bit of trust like gold and went to sleep with a tired grin on his face.

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

TSgt Vega was once again in the dorm just before reveille. He quickly walked the dorm and found that once again all was in order. It had taken a lot of effort to leave the dorm the night before. He had been up half the night worried. 

But his fears had been unfounded. All the trainees were in place and unharmed. In fact, they were already rousing and beginning their morning ritual. When reveille finally sounded, they were all up, dressed, and ready to begin the pre-PAST testing. 

TSgt Vega berated himself again for his unfounded fears and marshaled the group for the rigorous physical testing. Two hours later, TSgt Vega had to admit defeat. He allowed the last of his anger at his Dorm Chief to fade away.

It was the Dorm Chief who had coaxed and cajoled the extra push-ups and sit-ups out of the group. The Dorm Chief who had the Flight convinced that a two-mile run was easier than a mile and a half, that chin-ups were easier than slugging sand bags for hours on end. And it was the Dorm Chief that had requested that TSgt Vega hold his feet during the sit-ups, so the other trainees wouldn’t notice the pistol strapped under his t-shirt. 

TSgt Vega joined his Flight for a late breakfast and got them started on their weekly cleaning chores before he realized that he was in the way, more than he was helping. 

He casually walked over to the O’Neill kid, listed his instructions for the rest of the day, and then quietly turned to leave. He almost didn’t hear the kid’s quiet, heartfelt comment. 

“Thanks for trusting me.”

TSgt Vega turned back and gave him a small smile before he walked out the door. That last little comment abolished the last of his fears about the kid. What ever had been done to him, where ever he went later in life, what ever secrets he was protecting, TSgt Vega felt that he could trust him to do the right thing. And he knew that the kid didn’t take that responsibility lightly. 

 

CONTINUED IN ‘SECOND TO NONE – SIXTH WEEK’


	7. Second To None - Sixth WOT Graduation

“A man is the sum of his actions, of what he has done, of what he can do, nothing else.” Mahatma Gandhi (1869-1948)

Sixth WOT Agenda: Airman’s Coin Ceremony, Tech School Briefing, Haircuts, Airman’s Run, Retreat, Honor Graduate Ceremony, Open House, Parade/Graduation, Town Pass

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

When Jon got up Sunday morning, it was with some regret. This was the start of his last Week of Training, Sixth WOT. After graduation, Jon would be back at the SGC fighting to protect Earth. Back to risking life, limb, and sanity for people who might never know that a battle was taking place.

The rest of his Flight didn’t feel regret. They felt elation. This was the first day that they were allowed to wear their blue Class B uniform, an outward symbol to all the other trainees that they were in their final week. A symbol that, in spite of all its challenges, more trainees completed BMT than failed it. But for Jon, it was more a symbol of the end of this phase of his new life. 

Yes, Jon felt regret that his peaceful days were almost at an end. But he was also excited to return to what he considered to be his reality. He felt that he was ready. He was Jon O’Neill, Jack’s clone with all his memories, skills, and abilities, but way better knees. And it was time to get back to work.

But the Class B uniform provided Jon with his first challenge of the week; where to conceal his pistol? Unlike BDU’s, the Class B uniform didn’t have any good places to hide a pistol. Jon spent several minutes in the latrine trying different configurations before deciding on the ankle holster. Not the most secure or comfortable location, but at least it didn’t look like he was trying to hide anything, let alone a loaded pistol. One that he shouldn’t have. 

Before long breakfast was over, the dorm was clean, and the Flight was once again gathered in the dayroom as TSgt Vega outlined their week. 

“Good morning. I see that you all figured out what the uniform of the day is. This week is a bit more stressful than the last few weeks. Not because of the content but because it is graduation week. You also have the added stress of performing for the President. I’m not trying to make matters worse, but this is a REALLY big deal. You will all be watched closely for anything and everything. Be on your absolute best behavior.

“Now, that said, we don’t really have much to do this week until the graduation events, except practice, practice, practice. We will be doing PC and drill practice whenever we can. 

“Monday you will all receive a job classification briefing. This briefing will walk you through the Air Force Specialty Code that has been selected for you, based on your test scores and physical limitations. 

“This briefing will be followed up by a Technical School briefing. The Tech School briefing will tell you what is expected of you upon reaching your technical school, how you will travel there, as well as the consequences of failing to adhere to any and all standards taught here at Lackland.

“Tuesday is your second chance to conquer the confidence course. This time, you know what to expect and don’t have the added pressure of Warrior Week.” TSgt Vega gave them a grim smile, “As such, I expect you all to complete the course in record time with no errors.

“Now, Wednesday is your last chance to clean up and get a proper haircut before the graduation events start. Everyone will be required to get a haircut, no exceptions. We will also have a dress rehearsal for the Coin Ceremony. This is more to ensure that you know where to stand than anything else. We will go over the ceremony in detail at that time. 

“Security will also get tighter on Wednesday. Sometime that evening, President Hayes will land. Do not violate any of the security protocols. The Secret Service has absolutely no sense of humor when it comes to the President’s safety. Expect to be restricted to the dorm that evening at the very least.

“On Thursday, providing you haven’t screwed up and been recycled, we start the graduation events. First of all, if you have family coming, make sure they attend the Family Orientation briefing. It is required. There will be two briefings, one at 0730 and another at 1100. They will sign-in at that time, and receive their visitor’s pass. Anyone not cleared by the Secret Service will be turned away.

“The Airman’s Run starts at 0900. It is a 2.5 mile formation run and President Hayes has decided to run with us. ‘Us’ meaning all the trainees, not just our Flight in particular. I don’t know how that will affect the run. Be prepared for any last minute changes.

“After the run, we will have some time to shower, change, and eat before we are expected to be in place for the Coin Ceremony at 1330. The Coin Ceremony will be followed by a special presentation to our Honor Graduates and the Thunderbolt and Warhawk fitness award recipients, ending in a formal Retreat Ceremony. 

“Afterwards, you will all be released to your families for base liberty. You will however, be back in the dorm for roll-call by 2000. Failure to do so will result in immediate recycling to an earlier WOT. 

“This is likely the first time you will get to see your family members. Keep it professional. Remember the rules about public displays of affection. Hand shakes and quick hugs are okay, but try to avoid anything else. This is another ceremony the President plans to attend. For this reason, we will wait until the official party departs before releasing you.

“Friday is as busy as Thursday. The Graduation Parade is at 0900. Again, President Hayes plans to attend and is one of our honored guest speakers. Normally, the parade and speeches last approximately 30 minutes. But it could go longer. 

“After the parade, you are released to your family and a town-pass. You should feel free to invite your family to the Squadron Open House from 1000 to 1100. Expect security to be all over the place. President Hayes will be touring the squadron during this time. Your family is welcome to tour the squadron as well, just make them aware that extra security precautions will be in place. Advise them to not do anything stupid. Remember, no sense of humor. Again, be back in the dorm for roll-call by 2000. 

“Saturday you will be released for town pass, with or without your family, at 0900. Sunday you will be released for base liberty with curfew bumped up to 1600, except for honor graduates and fitness award winners who will receive another town-pass. Sunday night will be spent packing your bags for your travel. You will all ship out on Monday morning. So, do you have any questions?” TSgt Vega scanned the room and was pleased to see his trainees shaking their heads. “No? Alright, you know the drill. I want this dorm inspection ready before the first group departs for the chapel. Dorm Chief, I need a minute.”

“Yes, Sir,” Jon replied. Jon quickly directed the Element Leaders to double check the areas before dismissing the Flight, and followed TSgt Vega to his office.

Jon entered the office just as TSgt Vega sat down in his chair. He gestured to Jon to do the same, and added, “Close the door.”

Jon quietly shut the door and took a seat in the empty chair. He could tell that TSgt Vega was thinking hard, so he waited until the TI was ready to speak. This was the first time that TSgt Vega had talked to him outside of the official business of the Flight. And while it seemed that the TI had gotten past his anger, they still hadn’t cleared the air.

“I wanted to talk to you about a few items,” the TI started then paused. “First, I want to apologize for my behavior the last few days. I was angry about a lot of things, but I took it out on you. For that I am sorry. 

“I still don’t understand what exactly is going on, but I let my anger override my reason. I won’t let it happen again.” He paused, collecting his thoughts, “I spent much of last night thinking about what I have seen of you over the last few weeks… Reviewing it with new eyes, as the case may be. I know that I don’t have all the information. But I need to know if this… this life you are living is your choice. I feel like we have betrayed your trust… and I don’t know why.” He gave a frustrated sigh, “I know you can’t tell me everything, but I need to know this. Can you at least answer that question?”

Jon watched TSgt Vega carefully and lowered his shielding. He needed to know what was driving the question. Why did the TI need to know about Jon’s choices so badly? As his shields dropped, he felt the TI’s concern hammer at him. Images and emotions assaulted him from the TI. 

Long gone was the gang scenario and in its place was something much worse. TSgt Vega honestly thought that Jon had been conditioned to kill from a young age. Was disgusted by the fact. Worse, he felt betrayed by his country that they could condone it. But his overriding concern was that Jon was still just a kid. He deserved to live life first. He wanted Jon to be free to make his own choices. Not something that had been programmed in for a dubious purpose.

Jon gave a tired chuckle and pulled his shielding back into place. He gave TSgt Vega a sad smile, “I don’t know how to answer. A lot of my choices were taken from me, but not in a bad way. At least, I don’t think so any more…I was pulled quite forcefully from a life of combat and death. A life that I loved and lived to its fullest… In that moment, I lost the only family I thought I had. 

“I was wrong. I … I was given a second chance. An opportunity to start over. This life may not have started out as my choice, but I’ve learned to cherish it as much as I did the old one. Now, years later, I have found that I didn’t lose anything. I still have my family, albeit in a different form. And I know my duty now more clearly than before and not because someone else told me what it was. 

“No, I specifically chose to come here, to Basic Training and to the Air Force, to see if I still had what it takes to shield my people from harm, to make the hard choices. I wasn’t sure for a while there. I thought I had lost my edge. But, you and the rest of the Flight have helped me rediscover my purpose. 

“I could have chosen to go to college or the Academy or pump gas for a living. I wasn’t forced into this. And, in many ways, for many different reasons, I am more suited to this life than any other. 

“If you are afraid that I am being used, don’t be. I’m not. If anything, I have used you and this training to my own ends. I am… but one… chess piece on the board… and while my moves… are dictated by the movement of others… on the board… my direction is still… my own,” Jon finished, watching the tension slowly ease from the TI. 

TSgt Vega finally shook his head, “Not brainwashed, then?” He gave tired sigh at Jon’s negative reply, “I don’t know why I feel better. You are still just a kid with a full life ahead of you. But, oddly enough, I do. And I get the feeling that you’ve made an informed choice at that.” TSgt Vega gave Jon a small smile, “I think I can live with that. Now, on to other matters. I’ve been told that you are to attend a special function on Friday at the Officer’s Club.”

Jon nodded, “Yes, Sir. My ‘family’ is planning reunion of sorts. Not my idea, but I wasn’t really given a choice. I’d blame Daniel, but apparently Walter is the one who blew the whole thing out of proportion. My uncle just can’t seem to tell the Chief ‘no’ when he goes into full administrative mode and… Sorry. You were saying,” Jon finished, as he realized he was rambling.

“Yes, well, the function just got kicked up a notch. President Hayes plans on attending with the First Lady. Which means, every bit of brass on base and in the surrounding area will be clamoring to attend. Invited or not.”

“See, I knew the party was a bad idea,” Jon moaned into his hands. He finally looked up with a gleam of humor, “Hey, I have to be back by 2000 hours, right?” At TSgt Vega’s nod, he continued, “Excellent! I told the Chief that I wouldn’t be able to start sooner than 1800… soo… that means I only have to do the political dance for an hour or so… back to BMT reception by 1930… with extra walking time… that would mean… I could leave well before the real back-stabbing starts… Sweet!” 

TSgt Vega smiled at Jon’s antics. Definitely not the actions of a brainwashed killer. Juvenile, yes, but not brainwashed. He continued, “Anyway, I wanted to let you know before hand. Finally, I was told that you would be out-processing early. That you were scheduled to depart Saturday rather than Monday. But, I haven’t received a new location for your Tech School…”

“Ah…” Jon stopped TSgt Vega with a raised hand. “I have new orders on that subject.” TSgt Vega continued to stare at him, expectantly. “Right, I’ll just pull them out then.” He sighed in resignation as he pulled out his wallet and slowly unfolded the orders. “I just want you to know, before you read this, that this doesn’t change anything for me. At least, until this Saturday. After that, of course, everything changes…” He handed over the orders, watching TSgt Vega as he read them.

The TI scanned the document several times before looking up at Jon in confusion. “What…?” he asked.

Jon frowned, and tried to help the TI clarify his question, “What does it mean? Well, I have a rather unique skill-set. ‘They’ didn’t think I would be needed for several years. Hell, ‘I’ hoped I wouldn’t be needed for several years. But, due to certain situations beyond our control… ‘they’ need me sooner rather than later... So…” Jon gestured lamely at the orders still clutched in the TI’s hands.

“Like the reason you need to carry a gun?”

“Yeah, like that… I wish I could tell you more... You deserve to know more, but I can’t.” Jon gave TSgt Vega a sad look.

“I understand. You’ve actually told me more than you are probably supposed to anyway… Colonel,” TSgt Vega crack a huge smile.

Jon returned the smile, “Thanks, Sergeant.” 

“Well, I assume this is the point where you tell me not to let on about your rank, follow on, etc…” TSgt Vega continued.

Jon shook his head, “Yes, preferably, it’s just easier that way. Col Harding has already confirmed those orders. But, to keep things as normal as possible, he has told MSgt McCaffey and Chief Gunderson that my follow-on orders are to Colorado Springs. They have taken that to mean that I will be attending the Academy. Neither Col Harding nor I has corrected their assumptions.

“Likewise, I’m not expected to use my rank until I report to General Landry on Saturday. So for all practical purposes, I am still Airman Basic O’Neill until then. If someone asks, you don’t have to lie. I would never put you in that kind of position. And I certainly don’t want to disrupt the training program. I’m banking on no one asking the right questions, more than anything else,” Jon finished.

“The right questions?”

Jon smirked, “You know…’What is Colonel O’Neill doing in BMT?’… Those sort of questions.”

“Ah… and who would ask a silly question like that? It would make no sense,” TSgt Vega concluded, nodding in agreement. 

Jon smiled, “The only people who would ask, should already know the answer.”

TSgt Vega nodded in agreement, “Yeah. You know, I almost feel sorry for your new commander, General Landry, is it? Does he have any idea what he is in for?”

Laughing, Jon replied, “Oh, yeah. His boss is my uncle. You might say I’m a carbon copy of him.”

“Well, then, I guess he ought to have some idea. Now, get out of here, I’m sure you have work to do.”

“Yes, Sir.” Jon stood and left TSgt Vega to his paperwork, content that they had finally cleared the air and restored peace.

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

President Hayes was working on a Sunday. That in itself was not unusual. The unusual part came from the random bouts of giggles, chuckles, chortles, and out right laughter, accompanied by his exclamations of disbelief. His wife was all set to call him on it when he came out of the study for lunch.

“I have to tell you Maggie, I thought I had heard everything. But this takes the cake,” Henry started to explain, a huge grin on his face.

“What’s that, dear,” she replied.

“Oh, the boys are busy clearing the way for our visit to Lackland later this week, you remember? Well, one of the trainees has been playing practical jokes on his whole unit… this has been going on for weeks, Maggie… and some of the stunts that boy has pulled,” Henry continued, his grin growing wider.

“Did they finally catch him?” she asked.

“That’s just it… they didn’t. He ‘fessed up to the Secret Service. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been caught at all… I tell you, some of it is pure genius. The kid even wrote a mission report, if you can believe that… Then the rascal has the audacity to ask the Secret Service Agent to keep it under wraps so the squadron doesn’t find out… The whole thing has me in stitches.” He stopped for a minute considering, “You know, the rat even got me in that last prank of his.” He turned back to his wife with a feral grin.

Maggie turned a cautious eye towards her husband. She knew that he could go overboard all too easily when practical jokes were involved. “And how did he do that, Dear? You weren’t anywhere near Texas these last few weeks.”

“No, but I did call the squadron. And damn it if I wasn’t accused of being the joker himself… The good Colonel even accused me of not sounding like myself… You know, I ought to fight fire with fire…” he looked thoughtful.

Maggie began to worry. She knew that her husband took practical jokes far too seriously. And he hated to admit that someone had gotten anything over on him. It made him a good politician. But his weakness for practical jokes was one of his flaws. An endearing one, but still a flaw. He took practical joke wars to new and elevated heights. “Now, Dear, I’m sure this boy didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I know, I know. I was just thinking that one little prank, conducted by proxy wouldn’t be too much. I promise, Honey, nothing like the last time. I really will let someone else do the dirty work… In this case, it is imperative. The Secret Service Agents are the most persistent nurse maids you could have found for me.” Henry sent a silent plea to his wife for permission.

Maggie narrowed her eyes as she evaluated her husband, “No.”

“Please, Maggie. Only one and I won’t be the one to pull it.”

“Heavens, no. You made me a promise… Now, don’t you give me that face, Henry. After the last time, can you really blame me?”

Henry sighed in defeat, “Not really, no. But I doubt you’ll have a problem with the man I have in mind. You remember General O’Neill from that last banquet a few weeks ago?”

Maggie smiled at the memory. The poor General looked so miserable at the banquet. She felt like she was saving a lost puppy when she had rescued him from a group of Senators that had obviously cornered him to talk shop. He had been so thankful and so charming the rest of the evening. “Yes, Dear,” she replied.

“Well, since it IS his nephew causing all the trouble, I figured I’d send in the old war dog. I figure, if anyone could top the young pup, it would be the old dog.”

“Oh, my. His own nephew?” Maggie suppressed her own grin. She didn’t need to encourage her husband. “He would be a suitable choice, if only to collar the young man… But the answer is still ‘no,’ Henry. I’ll not allow you to go and disrupt this young man’s life. You understand me?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he replied, dejectedly.

“Alright then. You just have to accept defeat on this one. Let the poor boy be. I’m sure he’ll get an earful from his Uncle and they don’t need you to go and interfere. Now, finish your lunch, Dear.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

Late that night, one tired, jet-lagged Jack O’Neill stepped off a plane and into the San Antonio Terminal. He wasn’t greeted and didn’t expect to be. Officially, he was arriving 3 days later on Air Force One. If anyone asked his secretary, he was in a meeting or had just left for the day. He had let her believe that he was in space, with Thor, and not to be disturbed. 

Somehow, he just didn’t feel right telling her the truth. That President Hayes had sent him on a secret mission. A mission so secret that no one besides Hayes and himself was to even know about it, most especially the First Lady. Though Jack wasn’t sure why that last condition had been put I place.

Ultimately, he was to ‘get even’ with Jon for a practical joke. Other than the First Lady condition, Hayes had said that it would have to be public and Hayes wanted to see it. 

Jack had been on a lot of covert missions during his time in the Air Force. But this one definitely stood out. He wasn’t sure that it was the proper use of government resources to sic a General on an Airman Basic for retribution. Talk about an abuse of power. 

Then again, it was on Jon. He doubted that anyone else would be able to complete the mission outside of himself. Besides, Jack really liked the challenge of pulling one over on Jon. I mean, how often do you get the better of yourself? 

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

Monday dawned to the normal routine. PC was followed by breakfast, which was followed by drill practice. Although, the Flight was taking drill much more seriously now that they were so close to graduation. TSgt Vega didn’t do more than give the commands and watch for any discrepancies to make slight improvements. The Flight was sharp and their movements were precise. He honestly felt that they were ready. They would make good additions to his beloved Air Force. 

However, it was after watching a particularly well executed turn that TSgt Vega felt the hair rise on the back of his neck. He was instantly alert for any sign of something out of place. The Flight was sharing the parade grounds with one of the younger Flights but they were practicing on the far side. He scanned the edge of the grounds to look for anything else. Anything to account for the hair-raising feeling. 

Finally, he spotted something at the edge of the parade ground. Resting in the shade of the bleachers was a man, sitting quietly in the dark, watching his Flight. Whoever he was, he was wearing civilian clothes. Anyone assigned to Lackland would know better than to be caught anywhere near the training squadrons. And with the recent increase in security and a known threat to one of his trainees, TSgt Vega wasn’t about to let an unauthorized person anywhere near his Flight.

“FLIGHT, HALT!” he called. “Dorm Chief, take over for a minute.”

“Yes, Sir,” he watched as the Dorm Chief changed positions. “FLIGHT, FOR-WARD, HARCH!”

TSgt Vega turned back and briskly marched over to the bleachers. The man rose to greet him casually. TSgt Vega quickly scanned the area and the man, looking for suspicious bulges or packages.

“Excuse me. But no one is authorized in this area. I need to see some ID,” TSgt Vega demanded still scanning. Finally, he looked up and froze. Holy Shit!

“No problem, Sergeant. I just dropped by to do a little recon for later this week,” the man replied smoothly and handed over his ID.

TSgt Vega didn’t really need to see it to confirm the man’s identity. He saw that face everyday, albeit a significantly younger version. Carbon copy, my ass. They even had the same voice. He tore his gaze away from the face and glanced at the ID. Yup, no doubt now. One Major General Jonathan J. O’Neill stood before him.

TSgt Vega looked back up at the General, “Sir, family members are not authorized to be in the squadron area until the end of the week. No exceptions are made, Sir. I’ll have to ask you to leave and not return until Thursday.”

“Alright, alright. I can tell when I’m not wanted. I’d just promised the President that I’d have a look see.”

TSgt Vega instantly fumed at the name dropping. Just who the hell did he think he was, coming in here and disrupting my training. “Sir, I’m sure the BMT Reception Center would be more than willing to brief you on ALL the rules and guidelines regarding visiting your recruit during Basic Training. Please make sure you adhere to these rules to ensure you don’t disrupt my training again. Are we clear… Sir?”

“Is that a threat, Sergeant?” the General took on a decidedly dark look.

But TSgt Vega wasn’t intimidated. He was far too angry for that. Just not angry enough to lose control, yet… “No, Sir. Just some friendly advice. I don’t want to have to explain to MY trainees why a Major GENERAL in the Air Force doesn’t have to obey the same security RULES and they do. It’s just bad for morale…Sir.”

“Oh, fer crying out loud… take a chill pill, Sergeant. I’ll get out of your hair.” The General quickly gathered a few items and with a grin and a jaunty salute to the TI, he turned and left whistling. 

What the hell just happened? TSgt Vega was sure the General was about to jump down his throat when… poof, personality change. Shaking his head, TSgt Vega returned to his Flight to continue drill practice.

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

Jack was grinning as he walked away from the parade grounds. It was rejuvenating to be back here at Lackland. He didn’t think that the TI would have spotted him. He should have known better. Next time he wouldn’t hide in plain sight. But then, he was trying to be seen, at least by Jon, anyway. 

Of course, then the TI had given him a royal lecture. Not that he didn’t deserve it. But still, it was the principle that mattered. 

Anyway, objective one was now complete. Now for a nice nap by the pool. It was gonna be a long night.

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

Later that afternoon, the Flight was in the classroom yet again, receiving information on just what jobs they had been assigned in the Air Force. As Jon sat through the entirely unnecessary Job Classification briefing, he ran scenarios in his head. He had seen someone’s eyes flash from across the parade ground in the trees when TSgt Vega was confronting someone else under the bleachers. He couldn’t get a clear look at the guy in the trees, but the guy under the bleachers wasn’t Ba’al. The height and hair color were wrong. 

Someone was doing recon. They had at least a two man team. But why the parade ground next to the BMT dorms. The President would be at the main parade ground, not the practice grounds. Unless they weren’t targeting Hayes. 

The only likely scenario he could come up with was that Ba’al or the Trust had found out about him. But Jon needed more information. He needed to know a name. TSgt Vega had gotten a good look at one of them. Jon planned on cornering TSgt Vega after class to see if he remembered the name on the ID he had checked. Then, he would call General Landry and let him know about the infiltration on Lackland. There was no way he was going to let the President land when a Gou’uld was on the loose nearby.

Finally, the class broke up into smaller groups so the instructors could go into more details about the specific AFSC’s. This was his chance. Jon quickly made his way over to TSgt Vega. 

“TSgt Vega, do you have a moment?” Jon asked quietly, trying to pull the TI further from a nearby group.

“Yes, Dorm Chief.”

Jon noted the wary look in the TI’s eyes. That’s odd. “Sir, do you remember the name of the man you confronted under the bleachers? It’s important, Sir, a matter of National Security.”

The TI’s response was only a tired sigh, “I doubt that, Dorm Chief. Unless your uncle is suddenly a threat to National Security.”

Jon was stunned, “Come again.” Jack?

This time TSgt Vega grinned, “That was your uncle lurking beneath the bleachers. Said he was doing recon for later.” The TI shook his head tiredly, “I tell you, it happens every time I have a trainee with a relation as an active member. You’d think they’d know better, and stay away until they are authorized, but just because they can get on base, they try to sneak an early peek at the recruits.” TSgt Vega looked him in the eye, “Do me a favor and tell your uncle to follow the rules. Not even the President is allowed into the Squadron before the appointed time.” 

“Sure... Should I go call him now?” Jon asked, suddenly concerned. Jack was here? No way. Generals didn’t just show up unannounced. But that was just soo like Jack. So, it was possible, even plausible. But the eyes in the trees? If Jack were compromised… or the Gou’uld could have been following him… Just what in the hell is going on?

“Go ahead. After this is the Tech School briefing anyway. Head back to the dorm after you’re done. We’ll catch up to you there.” TSgt Vega turned away and went back to observing the Flight in their discussions.

Jon quickly turned and headed directly to the patio where the pay phones were located. He glanced around and was glad to see the area was deserted. He quickly punched in the number to Jack’s cell phone.

“O’Neill,” came the quick reply.

“Jack?”

“Jon,” was the only answer he got.

Jon sighed, “What ya doing here, old man?”

“Enjoying the pool. This is nice. We should have one of these in Colorado. Hey, in winter it would be our own private ice rink…”

“Jack!” Jon interrupted. 

“What? You got something against pools?”

“No, just against being watched by glowy-eyed shadows.” Jon sighed and sent out a thought to Jack. Jack’s gentle return of humor re-assured Jon that it was indeed his older self. “Well, you sound entirely too much like yourself to be a snake. So, who’s the guy in the trees?”

“What guy?”

“That guy that was watching the same time as you? I didn’t get a good look at him. But I would swear that his eyes flashed. He was over behind the bleachers in the trees,” Jon was getting more worried, but now it was for Jack.

“Can’t say as I saw anyone else.”

“Old man, does anyone else know you are here?” Jon asked.

“Yeah, the important people know how to reach me. But technically, I’m not here. I’m just a figment of your imagination.”

“A nosey figment. Why are you here anyway? Let alone watching my Flight drill…”

“That? Pish-shaw. That was nothing. Just wanted to get a look at ya. I did say that you never write and you never call. You didn’t have to send over the little tyrant. He looked like he was ready to deck me… and that was AFTER he found out who I was. Jeesh, some people have no respect for rank anymore.”

Jon smiled. Based on his conversation with TSgt Vega yesterday, he was sure that some of the TI’s anger had been directed at Jack for what he perceived as a conspiracy to corrupt Jon. Jon would let Jack navigate that mess on his own. Served him right for showing up unannounced.

“I haven’t been dressed down that bad since Doc found me sneaking in non-alcoholic beer to Ferretti. It said ‘non-alcoholic,’ for crying out loud.”

“Sorry to burst your bubble, old man, but I clearly remember that the beer was alcoholic. Only you tried to cover up that fact by placing a fake label on the bottle that said non-alcoholic,” Jon interjected.

“Well, yeah… but she wouldn’t take my word for it either… See, no respect,” Jack concluded.

“Oh yes, such a long suffering soul… So, are you going to answer my question or what? Why are you here? Early, I might add.” Jon asked again.

“I already told ya, taking in the sun by the pool. Ya know, while you were enjoying the nice weather last week, I was stuck in a dank bunker. Boss felt sorry for me and let me take a few ‘personal’ days,” Jack answered.

“Right,” Jon replied suspiciously. “And you decided to take them in Texas… by the pool.”

“Hey, I was coming here anyway. This saves me the extra plane ride. See, I’m being fiscally responsible, not to mention environmentally conscious.”

“Okay, fine, I give up. You’re here on vacation... I. Believe. You.”

“Thank you.”

“Just do me a favor and stop pissing off my TI, okay? I just barely got him speaking to me again after last week’s mess. Don’t pour salt on the wound.”

“Fine.”

“I mean it, Jack. Don’t make me take out the big guns.”

“Oh, like what?” Jack asked, not phased one bit.

“Like that embarrassing incident in 3rd Grade. I’m sure Carter would love to know how her beloved leader was beat up by a girl so early in life.”

“Hey! It’s your life too, ya know.”

“Nope! I’m just your nephew, old man.”

“But Carter would know!” Jack countered.

Jon grinned evilly, “Yep, Carter would know that I’m willing to share your dirty little secrets. And that I know all the best ones.”

“Crap! She would see it that way.”

“Soo? You promise?”

“Alright! I promise not to piss off your TI until the others arrive. After that, all bets are off.”

“I think I can live with that…” Jon turned serious, “Watch your back, old man. If the snake wasn’t watching me, he was watching you… Well, I guess, I’ll talk to you later, old man.”

“No problem, kid. Oh, and watch out for those mind control lasers.”

Jon heard the phone click before he could process that bit of information. Oh Crap! Jack knew about the practical jokes. Jack hated to be left out of a good practical joke. Oh man! He had to be planning something. But what?

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

Jack had taken TSgt Vega’s advice and visited the BMT Reception Center. The nice lady at the reception desk provided him with a complete list of the rules governing family visiting recruits in training. And nestled in among the other do’s and don’ts was the rule that stated a family member could visit at any time if they had received permission from the squadron commander.

As it happened, President Hayes had wanted Jack to meet with Col Harding. Sort of, feel him out on a private meeting on Wednesday night. But TSgt Vega didn’t need to know that, and since his primary mission was to get Jon all riled up. Well, two birds and one stone, ya know.

So that evening, around dinner time, Jack boldly strolled over to the 322nd Training Squadron in Blues. He pointedly walked long and slow past the dining facility and the training Flights awaiting entry, to the Administrative Offices where he politely requested a meeting with Col Harding.

And the whole way, people were only seeing his stars. He was carefully able to suppress his smirk at the awed expressions most of the young trainees wore. And this was just his Class B’s with no ribbons. But truly the icing on the cake was hearing Jon’s quietly muttered, “Vacation, my ass” as he passed the only Flight dressed in Blues. He didn’t see Jon, but then he wasn’t really looking.

“General O’Neill.”

Jack looked up into the cautious eyes of Col Harding and smiled, “Colonel. I know that I’ve arrived unannounced, but if you could spare a moment of your time…”

“Of course, General. This way please.” The Colonel led him into a quiet office. Jack immediately sat down in one of the large comfortable chairs.

“Thank you, Colonel. Please, have a seat.” Jack waited until Col Harding was seated behind his desk before continuing. “Colonel, I first want to apologize to you personally for this whole presidential fiasco. I asked President Hayes to attend fully expecting him to decline. I would never have asked if I had known he would want to FULLY participate.”

Col Harding’s expression softened, “Thank you, General. But you’re not fully to blame. When the President called me initially, it was to decline the invitation. But then I said some things that, I’m afraid, changed his mind. I made some assumptions that have in the end, bit me in the ass, if you’ll excuse the expression.”

Jack laughed, “I use the term ‘assets’ myself.”

Col Harding smiled in return, “But regardless, this is going to happen, so we better suck it up and press forward.”

“I fully agree. So, on to business. The President asked me to come here and find out if you will be willing to attend a private meeting when he arrives. I’m not sure exactly why, but he was most insistent that I ask. He was also very clear that it is not required.”

Col Harding winced, “Oh, I have a pretty good idea why. I’m just glad he decided to make it a ‘private’ meeting. Please tell the President that I’m available whenever he needs me.”

“Excellent. I’ll let him know. Well, I’ve taken up enough of your time. Thanks for seeing me on such short notice,” Jack said, rising from the chair.

“Anytime, General. Let me walk you to your car,” Col Harding replied, rising with him.

“Ack! No car. I walked. They got me billeted on base. Don’t worry, I can see myself out.” The two men shook hands at Col Harding’s office door before parting ways. Jack retraced his steps once again strolling past several Flights waiting to enter the dining facility. 

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

Over the next two days, the only time Jon didn’t see Jack was on the confidence course. He was jogging along the runner’s path when Jon’s Flight was doing PC and drill practice. He was getting a haircut at the BX when Jon’s Flight was scheduled for their trim. Each time Jon spotted him, Jack was already leaving. Once, Jon could have sworn he had seen Jack walking a dog along a distant tree line.

Jack didn’t even own a dog.

And while this was reassuring, in the sense that Jon knew his older self was fine, it was also maddening because he never caught sight of the other observer. No more glowing eyes in shadow. Jon was beginning to doubt that he had seen anyone at all, let alone a Gou’uld. 

He was so wired and tense that his Flight-mates were picking up on his tension. And that was when Jon started to question his sanity. He’s just messing with me. Why am I getting so worked up about this? It’s just a prank. It couldn’t be that bad. It was Jack for crying out loud. Jack wouldn’t hurt me… much. Embarrass, yes. Had already done so on many occasions. So just suck it up and take it like a man. It’s just a prank. No big deal. Yup! No. Big. Deal.

Man, I hate this.

“Attention in the Squadron! All trainees are to report to their dorm for roll-call. Repeat, all trainees are to report to their dorm for roll-call. CQ out.”

“And so it begins,” Jon whispered quietly to himself. Air Force One was landing and the squadron was going into lockdown for security reasons. He turned back to the patio and called to his Flight-mates, “Alright, you heard the man, back to the dorms. We don’t want to keep the TI’s waiting. They soo don’t like that.” Jon ushered the trainees on the patio back towards the stairwell. 

Just as he was about to enter the door, he spotted a laser dot on the wall opposite the door frame inside the dorm stairwell. His followed his first instinct to duck and cover. Jon ducked behind the solid cement walls of the dormitory and ducked low. He waited but the dot held steady on the wall, then it started to dance. Finally, it spelled out ‘gotcha’. 

“Damn,” he whispered. Nice, old man, kick the kid while he’s down.

Frowning, Jon quickly scanned the area and once he was sure it was clear, then he flipped the bird at the darkness across from the doorway.

Satisfied, Jon climbed the steps to the dorm and the impending lock-down.

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

Jack chuckled as he put the little laser pointer away. Jon was on edge and his reactions had confirmed it. The fact that Jon felt obligated to retaliate by flipping the bird was more than enough satisfaction for Jack, for now anyway. 

Jack strolled back to the CQ office he had visited just a few days earlier. He was supposed to pick up Col Harding and escort him to see President Hayes when his plane landed. He didn’t need to, since the good Colonel was on the appointment list, but Jack knew that things would go smoother through security if the man had a recognized escort. 

The CQ spotted him down the hall and called out, “ROOM, A-TEN-CHEN.”

Jack immediately waved him back down, “As you were, At Ease.” Some parts of being a General were more of a nuisance than an honor. That was probably one reason that he wore civvies into work and changed in his office. He didn’t quite feel that he had earned the right to have everyone jump to Attention just because he entered a room.

He gave the CQ Sergeant a reassuring smile, “Is Col Harding ready, yet?”

“Yes, Sir. He was just waiting for your arrival,” the Sergeant replied.

No sooner had the Sergeant relayed the message than the aforementioned Colonel appeared in the doorway to his office. He tugged at the sleeves of his Service Dress Coat, obviously nervous.

“Good evening, General,” Col. Harding greeted him.

“Is it? I didn’t notice,” Jack replied, grinning as he watching the nervous man. The Colonel looked startled before he noticed Jack’s grin and relaxed. “Shall we?” Jack asked and gestured towards the door way.

Col Harding visibly steeled himself before nodding. He followed Jack out to the Staff car that the Lackland motorpool had supplied Jack for his visit. 

They settled into the car and Jack immediately loosened his tie. “God, I hate this get-up,” he exclaimed to no one in particular. Jack started the car and slowly picked his way out of the parking lot. Once he was on the road, he turned his attention back to Col Harding. “Ya know, it can’t possibly be as bad as you think,” he started as the car made its way slowly towards the VIP quarters assigned to the President. “He’s not really mad at you.”

“Somehow, I doubt that, General,” was the Colonel’s distant reply.

“Hey, I’m just saying, as a guy that has pissed this particular President off a few times, I can tell when he’s mad. And he’s not... Not really, anyway… At least, not at you… Trust me, on this,” Jack dissembled before his words stumbled to a halt. Man, I am really not good at this… talking thing. 

The Colonel didn’t reply and before Jack could try again, they had pulled up to the first checkpoint. Jack quickly rolled down his window.

“Good evening, General, Colonel. May I please see your ID’s,” the Security Forces guard asked efficiently. 

“Sure,” Jack replied as he handed over the two ID cards. 

The Sergeant compared the faces to the occupants of the car and then compared the names to his list, as a Canine unit did a quick sweep of the vehicle. After finding a match on his list and receiving an ‘all-clear’ from the canine, he politely returned the ID’s, “Thank you, Sir.”

“No problem, Sergeant, have a nice evening,” Jack replied, as he tucked the card back into his wallet.

“Thank you, Sir, I will.”

Jack pulled through the checkpoint and continued on to the VIP quarters in silence. 

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

Once in the parking lot, the two men climbed out of the car and took a moment to straighten out their uniforms and hats. Col Harding watched the General slide on his Service Dress Jacket with practiced ease and then reluctantly re-tightened his tie. After picking a few invisible hairs off the jacket, he nodded at Col Harding and they headed over to the residence that would serve as the President’s quarters while he was visiting Lackland. 

The VIP house usually served as guest quarters for visiting dignitaries and generals. It was large enough to host parties and entertain guests without feeling cramped. Luckily it was large enough and comfortable enough to house the President and his aides. 

After passing through two more check points, the two men were ushered into a small study within the VIP quarters. Within moments an aide advised them that the President would be with them as soon as he arrived from Air Force One.

As both men waited, they fidgeted. The General ended up playing with a pen, endlessly twirling in across his knuckles, while Col Harding continued to straighten his uniform and pick off imaginary lint. 

Eventually, Col Harding started to take in his surroundings, after all there is only so much imaginary lint one can pick at. He felt a bit overwhelmed. He was about to meet the President of the United States. Not many people have that honor. Especially for a private visit. Even if it was to get his ass chewed. Heck, how many people get their ass chewed by the freaking President of the United States. 

Seeking anything that would distract him from his impending meeting with President Hayes, Col Harding caught sight of something in the corner of his eye.

Col Harding had been too distracted before to notice the General’s ribbon rack, but the brightly colored cloth caught his eye now. Row upon row of ribbons were stacked neatly on his chest reaching a good distance up towards his shoulder. The whole rack was topped by, not one, but two function badges. The pilot’s wings were expected, but the Special Operations badge was not. 

As Col Harding tried to read the rack, his eyes were drawn, not to a spot of color, but to a spot of black near the center. It took him a minute to remember which ribbons had black on them. One was the Kuwait Liberation Medal, which he identified as the last ribbon on the rack. But the one near the center could only be the Prisoner of War Medal. That realization made him read the rack closer. 

He immediately identified the Bronze Star with an oak leaf cluster, but not the other awards above it. He recognized the Purple Heart buried under several oak leaf clusters. That was followed by the Meritorious Service Medal, Air Medal, Commendation Medals, both Joint Service and Air Force, and the Air Force Achievement Medal. Each with several awards and the V device for an award in a hostile location. 

He was pretty sure the next two were the Presidential Unit Citation and the Joint Meritorious Unit Awards, but he couldn’t be sure. He recognized more of the awards as he reached the lower rows; The National Defense Service Medal with a second award, Antarctica Service Medal, Armed Forces Expeditionary Medal, Southwest Asia Service Medal, Global War on Terrorism Service Medal, Armed Forces Service Medal, Air Force Overseas Ribbon, both Short and Long tours, Air Force Longevity, Small Arms Expert Marksman Ribbon with a second award, United Nations Medal, NATO Medal, and finally, the Kuwait Liberation Medal.

Col Harding was disappointed in himself for not being able to immediately identify the top three awards. He commanded a BMT Training Squadron. He expected his Instructors to know. And he was disappointed in himself for not knowing.

“Which ones?” the General’s voice interrupted his thoughts. The General didn’t even look up from his fiddling.

“What, Sir?”

“Which ones don’t you recognize?” he clarified. 

“Oh. I’m sorry, Sir… I didn’t …” He had been caught staring. 

“Don’t worry about it. I get it all the time. Heck, it is but one of the reason that I hate wearing this monkey suit,” the General replied. “Though the tie is the main reason. So which ones?” he asked again.

“The… ah… top three…” Col Harding replied, embarrassed.

“Ah… those. The Air Force Cross, the Air Force Distinguished Service Medal, and the Silver Star.” The General’s eyes never left the pen and its repeating trip around his knuckles. “Not the black one? That’s the one I usually get questions about.”

“Uh… no, Sir.”

“Stop harassing the good man, Jack, before I decide to add to your list of medals,” a new voice interrupted. Col Harding turned to see President Hayes walk into the room. He immediately snapped to attention.

“At ease. Please take a seat, gentlemen.” The President took a seat in one of the easy chairs. “Now, Col Harding, I didn’t call you here to chew you out. I consider us both the victims of a well executed practical joke.”

Col Harding was stunned. How did the President know about the practical jokes the unit had been experiencing? He had done his best to keep them a secret from the rest of the base.

“Don’t look so surprised, Colonel. The instigator of the jokes confessed to my Secret Service Agent to prevent security complications. Jack, give him a copy of the report,” the President ordered.

Col Harding turned to the General in time to see him pull a set of folded pages from his service jacket. He made a short attempt to straighten them out before handing them to Col Harding. The Colonel accepted them with some reservation.

“I don’t understand, Sir.”

“Oh, you will. Under normal circumstances the joker would be punished, probably an Article 15, loss of pay, etc. But these are far from normal circumstances. First of all, I’m not inclined to punish a relatively harmless practical joke. Second, the individual is needed elsewhere immediately. Third, it is so much more fun to get even,” at this last statement, the President leaned forward with a grim smile. “How would you like to get a bit of revenge?”

“I… uh… I think I’d like that,” he replied carefully.

“Good, good. I’ve been sworn to keep my hands out of it. So, I’ve appointed General O’Neill as my proxy. He has all the details. He knows the target and the best way to get even. I’ll let you two work out the details, while I sit back and enjoy the show.” The President stood and Col Harding stood with him. “I also wanted to give you my thanks. You have a hard job to do and I really do appreciate all your efforts.” 

Col Harding took the President’s hand and returned the handshake, “Thank you, Sir.” 

The President turned to the General with a grin on his face, “Jack, stay out of trouble. I mean it.”

“You wound me, Sir. I haven’t been nearly killed in at least two months,” the General replied. 

“Yes… I recall the incident with crystal clarity. Try not to do it again, alright?”

“I’ll try, Sir.”

Col Harding just shook his head at the odd exchange. The President finally said his goodbyes and the General escorted him back through security and back to the squadron. And on the way back, the General carefully outlined the plan to get the joker. By the end trip, Col Harding was in full accord. Now, he just had a few calls to make and a speech to write. Payback would be sweet.

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

“Well that was a waste of time,” Daniel sighed as the group exited the Reception Center. They had just completed the Family Orientation Briefing. The briefing outlined the dos and don’ts for the new Airmen and their family members. This briefing was more to prepare the family members for the changes in behavior that they would observe in their Airman, than anything else. 

“Chill out, Uncle Daniel,” Cassandra added. “Some of us happen to have needed the briefing.”

“Yeah, well, I felt like I was receiving instructions on my new puppy.” Daniel’s voice dropped into an imitation of the man who gave the briefing, “YOUR RECRUIT is not housebroken, only paper trained. If YOUR RECRUIT fails to adhere to training protocol, use a rolled up newspaper and soundly whack YOUR RECRUIT on the nose while firmly saying, ‘no.’”

Both Sam and Cassie started giggling at Daniel’s imitation.

“Well, Daniel, I’m glad you think so highly of the Air Force’s training,” a new voice said behind Daniel. 

Cassie squealed as she caught sight of Jack and ran to give him a big hug. “Oh, my God! I haven’t seen you in forever and Sam won’t tell me anything. Like that’s different, and now you are so far away, and you don’t call nearly enough. I mean, hello, what does it take to call me, it’s not like I’m in outer space or something…” Cassie rattled off as quickly as she could talk.

“Breathe, Cassie, breathe,” Jack interrupted. “Okay, now, in my defense, I called just last week. And as I recall, your roommate said that you had gone to some,” he used air quotes, “’big keg party,’ and not to expect you back before dawn.” Jack gave her a considering look, “Dawn?”

Cassie blushed, “Oh, that… yeah… well…” She cleared her throat before turning to Teal’c, “So, Uncle Teal’c, what’s the next stop on this grand tour?”

Teal’c had been contently observing his friends renew their bonds with a small smile. Cassandra Frasier had grown into a fine strong woman. He had no fear that she could hold her own against his teammates. In fact, he was proud to see her adopting many of their mannerisms. Like now, when she was obviously trying to divert attention from herself and this ‘keg party’ that O’Neill had referred to, by ignoring it. 

He gently bowed his head and answered, “We are to proceed to the street where we will observe the trainees’ physical prowess as they run some distance in formation. I have been informed that President Hayes himself will lead the run.”

“Really? That is so cool. Come on guys. We have to get a good seat,” Cassie cried as she led the group towards the grassy area next to the road. The area was clearly marked for the families of trainees. 

“I’m surprised you’re not wearing your uniform, Uncle Jack,” Cassie added, noting Jack’s casual attire. “I’m sure we could get special treatment if you threw your rank around.”

“Why Cassandra Frasier, I am shocked and appalled that you would think I could abuse my rank in such a manner…” Jack started.

Daniel slyly interrupted, “Says the man who declared that every Wednesday should now be Double Fudge Brownie Wednesday…”

Sam couldn’t help adding, “The same man who told the Security Forces that anyone caught parking in his spot was… and I quote… to be shot on sight and THEN brought in for questioning…”

Teal’c quietly added, “Who is indeed the same man who ordered cable television for the gym so that he might watch his hockey games while using the treadmill.”

Jack stared at all three for a minute before declaring, “Et tu, Teal’c?”

“Indeed,” was Teal’c’s only reply.

The group made themselves comfortable on the grass and waited for the Flights of trainees to run by. They chatted about anything and everything, keeping in mind the other families nearby. Finally, the first of the training Flights was spotted at the end of the road. 

“Okay, which one is he in again?” Cassie asked, not wanting to miss seeing Jon.

“322nd Training Squadron, Flight 1342,” was Sam’s automatic reply.

“Don’t worry, Cassie. He will be the last trainee closest to us on this side. You can’t miss him,” Jack reassured her.

Through the air, the group could hear the different Flight’s singing their Cadence to keep in time. Each trying to sing or shout louder than the others. At the head of the group, they could see President Hayes jogging as he was surrounded by Secret Service agents. 

Then Jack heard a very familiar cadence. One that he hadn’t heard in a long, long time. It wasn’t the usual Jody that trainees learned. 

“Pebbles and Bam-Bam on a Friday night,” one voice rang out. “Trying to get to heaven on a paper kite… Lightning struck…” 

“BOOM,” the group responded.

“And down they fell,” the voice continued.

“AHHH.”

“Instead of getting to heaven, they went straight to hell... Dino the dog,” Jack recognized the voice. It was Jon.

“RUFF RUFF,”

“Was on the bone,” he continued.

“CHOMP CHOMP,”

“While Fred and Barney rocked the microphone... There was nothing that Fred or Barney could do… 'cept sing,”

"Yabba daba daba daba daba daaaaaba do!" the group finished, just as they were passing their position on the side of the road.

“Oh, my God! There he is. I see him. I see him,” Cassie squealed in glee.

The others simply smiled and watched as Jon started up the next Jody as they ran past. Only Jack caught the slight smirk as he passed their position on the side of the road. 

“Global Vigilance, Reach and Power…Every second, every minute, and hour…” he started out.

“Air Force… Air Force…” the group responded, singing.

“Defend the U.S. from high in the air…With supersonic fighters everywhere…

“Air Force… Air Force…”

“Precision aircraft tried and true… Just wait until you see the F-22…”

“Air Force… Air Force…”

“The Global Hawk, the C-17…The B-2 Bomber makes the enemy scream…”

“Air Force… Air Force…”

“Don’t you forget about Air Force One… Never stopping till the job is done…”

“Air Force… Air Force…”

“That’s what we use to help keep the peace… Transporting out the Commander in Chief…”

“Air Force… Air Force…”

“I really think you ought to join the team… So you can better understand what I mean…”

“Air Force… Air Force…”

Jack stopped trying to distinguish Jon’s Flight from the chaos of voices only to hear Cassie complain.

“That’s it? That’s all we get? That is SO lame.” Cassie was looking around at the others in her group, “Well, it is. We only got to see him for like… 30 seconds. L. A. M. E. Lame.”

Jack checked his watch, it was just past 0930. They had several hours until the Retreat at 1330. Jack turned to Cassie, “How about we go shopping? You know, Lackland sports one of the largest BX’s in the Air Force. I’m sure Daniel could explain the deep and complex history of the BX and its important function in today’s military.”

“I could?” Daniel replied, surprised.

“Of course,” Jack continued, taking Cassie by the arm. He pretended to brighten at a thought, “And then we could do lunch.” He turned back as he noticed the other three falling behind, “Come on Campers, lunch waits for no man.” He eyeballed Sam, “or woman.” Then he led them back to the parking lot where their rental cars waited.

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

Jon watched as the other trainees were literally bouncing with excitement. Even after a 2-mile run, they still had way too much energy to burn. The Flight had showered and changed into their Class B uniform for the Airman’s Coin Ceremony. Most had been almost too excited to eat lunch. 

Now, they were waiting for TSgt Vega to call them together and assemble to march to the far side of the dormitory where the ceremony would take place. This was a private ceremony. Only the squadron and the Training Instructor’s would be present. But to the Trainee’s it was the most important ceremony. 

At the Airman’s Coin Ceremony, the TI would acknowledge the trainees as Airmen for the first time. It was a key milestone for the young recruits. One that they had worked hard and long for. 

“Did you see your family?” Skoke asked, excited. He had spent the last 10 minutes talking about having seen his own family on the run this morning. The big guy didn’t usually spin up this easily and his happiness at seeing his family was infectious. 

“Yup. It was kind of hard to miss them. I was sure Cassie was going to run out and give me a hug.” Jon smiled at the memory. He had seen Teal’c first, then the rest of the group. Cassie had been clearly bouncing with joy at having spotted him. Daniel and Sam had smiled and waved, trying not to catch his attention but clearly wanting acknowledgement. And Jack had stood back and smirked at the whole scene. At least he wouldn’t try anything with the others around. Daniel and Sam in particular had been the butt of too many of his jokes to allow him to get away with anything for the next few days.

“Cassie? Is she like your girlfriend?” Ruso asked, trying to insinuate more.

“Ew. No way. More like a sister… Ew,” Jon replied. Then turned an evil look at Ruso, “And don’t even think about it. She’s like a baby sister and I feel obligate to kick the ass of anyone who doesn’t treat her with respect… And I’m not the first in line to have the honor of defending her. So you better watch yourself.”

“Easy, man. I get it. I can do respect.” Ruso seemed to consider his options, “On second thought, how about I just stay the hell away from her.”

“Wise choice,” Jon replied, his smile returning.

“Don’t look at me. My sister is 7 years old,” Skoke replied when Ruso turned a hopeful look in his direction. 

TSgt Vega marched into the dorm. “Alright, people, gather in the dayroom.” He waited until all the trainees had settled into the dayroom before beginning, “The time has nearly come for you all to graduate. But you can still screw up until you get on the bus out of here, so keep that in mind as you act these next few days. This evening you will have base liberty with your family. Remind them of the rules. Training Instructors will be everywhere watching you. If you break the rules, you will be recycled. Don’t let the upcoming ceremonies fool you. Your bald head is mine until you ship out. Understood?”

“YES, SIR.”

TSgt Vega gave the whole room a glare before changing it to a smile. “Alright, then lets get this show on the road. First, we will all gather for the Airman’s Coin Ceremony. Once this is complete we will march to the Retreat Ceremony. After the Retreat, you will all be dismissed for Base Liberty with your families. I want you back by 1800 in the dorm. I will conduct roll-call. So be here or else.”

TSgt Vega smirked, “Now for most of you, you will be free to roam the base after Retreat, but the following trainees need to report to the BMT Reception Center at 1500: Jones, O’Neill, Peyton, Ruso, Skoke, Soto, Thomas. I’ve been told that today’s Warhawk and Honor Graduate ceremony will be memorable, all trainees and Instructors are encouraged to attend with their families. If you don’t have anything else… LINE UP!”

All the trainees were grinning as the quickly lined up and filed out of the dorm to form up on the patio. The group marched to the far side where all the available Training Instructors, including all the blue ropes, and Col. Harding were waiting.

The trainees were marched to the center and remained at attention. Col Harding smiled at them, “Stand at ease.” He grinned as the smartly snapped from Attention to a relaxed form of Parade Rest. “Trainees, today is the day you have been working so hard for. Today you become Airmen. While you continue to learn and advance in the Air Force, remember the lessons you have learned here at BMT. Remember the Core Values of the Air Force; Integrity First, Service Before Self, and Excellence in All We Do. 

“You have already demonstrated how you value Service before Self by enlisting in the Air Force. And as a Flight you have exemplified Excellence, earning the distinction of Honor Flight. So it is my proud honor to now name you Airmen of the United States Air Force.” Col Harding strode over to the first trainee, the guidon bearer, closely followed by all the blue rope TI’s and TSgt Vega.

He smiled as the trainee snapped to attention and received his Airman’s Coin, then gave a sharp salute before shaking the Colonel’s hand. As the Colonel moved to the next trainee, the first blue rope took his place and congratulated the new Airman and so on. The Colonel repeated the process with each trainee, giving them a heartfelt ‘Congratulations, Airman,’ to each one. 

Finally, he reached Jon. Jon repeated the take, salute, shake formula. But he felt uneasy with Col Harding’s wary glance. Like something was off. He couldn’t tell what it would be. Heck, even TSgt Vega was back to his old self after last week’s fiasco. Jon just shook it off. It wouldn’t matter in few days anyway. 

Jon accepted the congratulations and quiet handshakes from the rest of the Training Instructors. When the last one had finally passed by, he breathed a sigh of relief. The Flight was called to attention and then marched to the Retreat Ceremony. One down, two more to go, then one political party, then… Okay, let’s just take one day at a time. Next up, Retreat. Easy as eating cake.

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

Thanks to Jack’s early lunch, the SGC group, now including General Hammond, were able to stake out a spot on the bleachers front and center. Cassie seemed to amplify the excitement of the surrounding family members by asking a thousand questions. The group in turn felt obligated to answer each question in turn, even if it was bound to generate 10 more. 

Finally, the Master of Ceremonies announced that the Flights were arriving and the whole crowd fell into a hush. As each Flight marched onto the field, the Master of Ceremonies would announce the squadron and Flight number and any Flight awards the group had earned. Jack had to remind Cassie to breathe again as she waited. 

“Flight 1342 from the 322nd Training Squadron, Honor Flight and Warrior Week’s Outstanding Performer,” the MC announced. 

Cassie squealed in delight and immediately slapped her hand on her mouth. She mouthed a quiet “Sorry,” to the group before bouncing in her seat as she watched the Flight march to their designated spot around the flag pole.

The MC started the ceremony, “Please rise for the President of the United States…”

The speakers began to play the Presidential March. The whole crowd rose as the President and his party walked from the side to the reserved seating just in front of the flag pole. The President waved to the crowd before taking his seat.

Once the official party was seated, the MC relayed, “Please take your seats I would first like to welcome President Hayes, the First Lady, Mrs. Margaret Hayes, Lt General Harrison, commander of the 37th Training Wing, Major General Thompson, commander of the 433rd Airlift Wing, and Brigadier General Randolph, commander of the 59th Medical Wing. Colonel James Mosby, Commander of the 737th Training Group, will be leading our formation tonight. Thank you for attending our ceremony today.” 

The MC began his short explanation of the ceremony, “Since this country first declared freedom from Britain’s rule, those men and women who have served under the flag that represented this nation have paid tribute to it through this simple ceremony. First, the Airmen will pay tribute to those who have served before them by singing the Air Force song…”

Just as the MC’s voice faded, the first chords of the Air Force Song could be heard. Soon, the music was joined by the several hundred young men and women surrounding the flag pole; the new Airmen. 

“Off we go, into the wild blue yonder,

“Climbing high, into the sun,

“Here they come, zooming to meet our thunder;

“At 'em boys, give 'er the gun!

“Down we dive, spouting our flame from under,

“Off with one, Hell-of-a roar!

“We live in fame or go down in flame,

“Hey! Nothing will stop the U.S. Air Force!

“Minds of men, fashioned a crate of thunder,

“Sent it high into the blue;

“Hands of men, blasted the world asunder,

“How they lived, God only knew!

“Souls of men, dreaming of skies to conquer,

“Gave us wing, ever to soar.

“With scouts before, and bombers galore,

“Hey! Nothing can stop the US Air Force!

“Here's a toast, to the host, of those who,

“Love the vastness, of the sky,

“To a friend, we send this message,

“Of his brother, men who fly.

“We drink to those, who gave their all of old,

“Then down we roar to score the rainbow's gold.

“A toast, to the host, of men, we boast,

“Hey! To The US Air Force! 

“Off we go, into the wild sky yonder,

“Keep the wing, level and true, 

“If you'd live, to be a gray haired wonder, 

“Keep the nose, out of the blue, 

“Flying men, guarding our nation's borders

“We'll be there, followed by more,

“In echelon, we carry on,

“Hey! Nothing can stop the US Air Force!

Into the quiet, the MC continued, “All rise for the retirement of the colors. It is traditional for military members, both active and retired to salute the flag in Retreat. Members of the civilian community are encouraged to honor the flag by placing their hand over their heart…” 

Colonel Mosby standing in the most forward position completed an About-Face and addressed the assembled Flights, “GROUP!” 

“SQUADRON!” the cry was echoed by the various squadron commanders as they in-turn, relayed the order to their squadron over their shoulder.

“FLIGHT!” the Training Instructors relayed over their shoulders. 

“PRESENT,” the Colonel continued, then did an About-Face so he was once again facing the flag pole.

“PRESENT,” echoed the squadron commanders.

“PRESENT,” echoed the TI’s.

“ARMS!” Colonel Mosby ordered. All the Flights presented a salute at exactly the same time; presenting a picture perfect image. Jack heard Cassie’s sharp intake of breath. He had to admit, it was an impressive sight.

Jack snapped a salute just as the first notes of Taps sounded. From his vantage point he could see all the members of his small group; his family. The military members of his party were at Attention with salutes, while Daniel and Cassie had their hands firmly over their hearts. Teal’c had opted for a Jaffa salute with his fist clenched over his heart and his head bowed. Jack beamed with pride at the motley group; his motley group.

In front, the color guard had ceremonially lowered the flag and using precise practiced movements folded the flag into a neat bundle. They had timed the process and their exit to coincide with the end of the last round of Taps. 

Once the Color Guard and disappeared from sight, Colonel Mosby slowly lowered his salute and executed an About-Face, “GROUP!” 

“SQUADRON!” the cry was echoed by the various squadron commanders as they relayed the order to their squadron over their shoulder, salutes still firmly in place.

“FLIGHT!” the Training Instructors relayed. 

“ORDER,” the Colonel continued.

“ORDER,” echoed the squadron commanders.

“ORDER,” echoed the TI’s.

“ARMS!” Colonel Mosby ordered. Once again with perfect timing, all the Airmen dropped their salutes. 

The voice of the MC once again sounded across the crowd, “This concludes our ceremony tonight. Thank you for joining us. Please remain standing and in place for the departure of the Presidential party…”

Once again, the speakers played the Presidential March as the President and the accompanying Generals rose and filed out of the area. 

Colonel Mosby waited until the last notes of the March faded before bellowing, “GROUP!”

“SQUADRON!”

“FLIGHT!”

With a grin Colonel Mosby gave the final order for the evening, “DISMISSED!” All the Airmen executed an About-Face at the same time. Then turned back to the crowd of family members and began their search for their loved ones. The result was chaos as the crowd of trainees crashed into the crowd of family. 

Jack just shook his head and prodded Teal’c in the ribs. “Teal’c.”

“Yes, O’Neill,” was the quiet reply.

“Get up on the seat.”

“What purpose would this serve?” Teal’c asked, not quite sure if he was the butt of one of his friend’s many jokes. 

“So, Jon can find us. He’ll see you long before he notices the rest of us in this crowd,” Jack explained.

Teal’c scanned the crowd and then looked to Sam for confirmation before answering, “Indeed.” But he did climb onto the bleachers. The result was the he now loomed over the crowd, an island of calm in a sea of chaos. 

Before long, Jon appeared next to Jack. “Miss me?” he queried as the group finally noticed him.

Once again, Cassie squealed with glee and grabbed Jon giving him a sound kiss on the cheek, then she blushed pink before letting him go and backing away. 

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes,’” Jon grinned in her direction. Then he spotted General Hammond, “Sir, good to see you. Enjoying retirement?”

General Hammond stepped forward and took his hand, “More like enjoying the peace and quiet. I don’t envy Landry trying to deal with two of you at the same time.”

Jon and Jack shared an evil grin. 

“Nope, definitely glad I retired when I did,” Hammond said shaking his head. 

“So, what now, Jon?” Sam asked, smiling.

“Ah…” Jon checked his watch. “I have to be at the BMT Reception Center at 1500, then… we can do whatever. I have base liberty till 1930.”

“Scratch that,” Jack interrupted, “We have to get ready for Walter’s party… 15… carry the 2…” He grinned. “What? I didn’t tell you?” He gave a long suffering sigh, “We had to change the party to tonight to avoid all the party crashers. Walter set it up for a Lu’au format. No Hawaiian shirt, no entry. Except for Jon, because of all the ‘rules’ he has to follow.”

Jon gave him a quiet glare, “Oh joy. A lu’au… Well, I think we have enough time to mosey over to the Reception Center… slowly before they need me to take my place.”

Daniel and Sam eyed him with curiosity, “I thought the briefing said you were released after the Retreat,” Daniel stated and Sam nodded her agreement.

Jon grinned at them, “Unless you are the uber-fit trainee who earned the Warhawk award for Fitness Excellence,” he replied casually, then did a little bicep flex.

“Really?” Daniel asked.

Jon narrowed his eyes at Daniel, “Is it that hard to believe, Daniel?”

“Well… no… not really… I guess…” Daniel sputtered.

“Good for you, Jon. Congratulations,” Sam replied. 

“Thanks.”

The group made its way slowly back to the reception center as the crowd thinned. Once inside they were asked to sign-in and then they were directed into the auditorium. Jon was asked to wait with the other trainees. 

Jack scanned the area and noted with pleasure the reserved seating. He noted that the PJ’s had sent a Chief to represent them. Something about the guy was familiar, but he couldn’t place it from his angle. Oh, well, something to worry about later. 

Before long the auditorium was full and the Master of Ceremonies took to the microphone. “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. Please rise for the President of the United States…” Once again, the Presidential March was played as the President and First Lady walked in to take their seats. 

The MC addressed the group again, “Please take your seats. I would like to take this time to acknowledge our special guests; President Henry Hayes and his wife, Margaret Hayes, Lt General Harrison, commander of the 37th Training Wing, Lt General George Hammond, retired, Major General Jack O’Neill, visiting from the Pentagon, Colonel Nick Westrup, commander of the 366th Fighter Squadron, Colonel Thomas Harding, commander of the 322nd Training Squadron, Chief Master Sergeant Anthony Gunderson, and Chief Master Sergeant Harold Nelson…”

The crowd gave a round of applause. The MC continued, “We are here this afternoon to pay special tribute to those Airmen who have gone through the training here at Lackland AFB and excelled. Each of the Airmen presented here today has distinguished his or herself from their peers by demonstrating superior performance; first in fitness and second in the academic and military bearing arenas.

“First, I will call forward all the trainees who have not only met the rigorous fitness requirements required by BMT, but exceeded them. These trainees have been awarded the Warhawk Award for Fitness Excellence.”

The training instructors each took the stage, “From the 320th Training Squadron; Airman Brill, Airman Koch, Airman Morrison, and Airman Nicks.” The first TI stepped forward as his trainees walked to the stage as the audience clapped for their particular Airman. They were each greeted with a plaque and a handshake from their TI, and then directed to file back into the wings of the stage. 

“From the 321st Training Squadron: Airman Breuer, Airman First Class De Valle, and Airman Hurn.” A second TI repeated the process. 

“From the 322nd Training Squadron: Airman Jones, Airman O’Neill, Airman First Class Peyton, Airman Ruso, Airman Skoke, Airman First Class Soto, and Airman Thomas.” TSgt Vega stepped forward and presented the awards to the Airmen. 

“From the 323rd Training Squadron: Airman Chapa and Airman Swartz.” The next TI stepped forward to present the awards and so on until the last squadron had presented its awards. 

The MC allowed the last of the trainees to disappear behind the curtain. “Now, we will honor those trainees that have demonstrated excellence in all areas. In order to be considered for the title of Honor Graduate a trainee must first excel in fitness. They must pass all academic tests with a 90% or better grade. They must pass each inspection with high marks. And they must exemplify these high standards to the other members in their Flights. No more than 10% of any Flight can receive this award. Now, to award the member of the 320th Training Squadron, TSgt Milclay…”

The first TI to hand out the Warhawk Awards took the podium, “It is my distinct honor announce that Airman Brill and Airman Nicks are selected as Honor Graduates for Flight 1340. Both Airmen distinguished themselves by not only excelling in the military standards but tutoring their peers throughout BMT.” Both Airmen reappeared from behind the wings of the stage and stood at attention as the TI came forward and presented them with their Honor Graduate Ribbon. Their families cheered in the background as the rest of the audience applauded.

The MC re-took the microphone only long enough to announce the next TI, “For the 321st Training Squadron, TSgt Green…”

The next TI took the stand, “It is my distinct honor announce that Airman First Class De Valle is selected as the Honor Graduate for Flight 1341. She distinguished herself by demonstrating superior academic performance and pushing her peers to achieve even greater physical fitness levels.” The Airman reappeared and stood at attention as the TI came forward and presented her with her Honor Graduate Ribbon. 

“For the 322nd Training Squadron, Col Harding…”

Col Harding nodded to the audience as he took his place behind the podium, “I have the distinct honor of announcing four honor graduates this time around. If they would please come forward; Airman Jones, Airman O’Neill, Airman Skoke, and Airman First Class Soto.” The four Airmen filed onto stage and stood at attention. 

“I have commanded this Training Squadron for two years now and I can honestly say that I have never seen a Flight of Trainees come together like this Flight did. These four here have exemplified not only the high military standards expected of them, but have proven that teamwork is vital.

“Airman First Class Soto is honored not only because of his academic achievement and his perfect Red Line Inspection marks, he is honored because he spent extra time teaching his Flight-mates what he knew about squaring away his locker and bunk. Congratulations Airman.” TSgt Vega walked up to the Airman and presented his ribbon. Airman Soto accepted the award and quickly moved off stage into the shadows of the wings, obviously glad to be out of the spot light.

Col Harding continued, “In large part, the success of this Flight was due to its superior trainee leadership. Airman Jones and Airman Skoke, both element leaders, with less time to accomplish their own tasks, were successfully able to inspire excellence in both fitness and academics in their respective elements. Neither of their Elements lost a fellow trainee to recycle for either fitness or academic failure. I have personally flagged their records for consideration in the Boot-Strap program, if they wish to continue in demonstrating their superior leadership skills.” TSgt Vega, now sporting a huge grin, walked up and awarded each of the trainees. The trainees were stunned by the news and had to be directed off the stage, the families of the two trainees going wild in the background.

Col Harding gave the President a nod and waited until the audience was quiet once more before continuing, “Finally, last, but certainly not least is Flight 1342’s Dorm Chief. Airman O’Neill has distinguished himself from his first days in BMT by demonstrating picture perfect knowledge of the required academic material. He achieved 100% on both academic tests. He showed exceptional leadership skills by assisting all the members in his Flight to excel past the minimum required standards. His leadership skills were so exceptional that he was identified by two separate Senior NCO’s as an outstanding Airman and recommended for immediate appointment to the US Air Force Academy. 

“However, Airman O’Neill didn’t stop with the standard training material. He continued to challenge himself and others in the Squadron by creating a Squadron-wide morale program designed to ensure that all trainees were versed in military trivia and kept current on the latest updates. He practiced and honed the squadron’s warrior skills by testing the observational skills and agility of all the squadron members. He upgraded the squadron’s public address system to allow for a remote dial with standardized input. In fact, this system was so successful that it was tested on all the squadron’s telephone lines.

“Finally, Airman O’Neill challenged his Flight to excel during Warrior Week by not only successfully repelling all the enemy aggressor’s attacks, but to take the fight to the enemy. He led a small infiltration team that effectively disabled the aggressors’ camp for several hours on the last day of the 3-day exercise, sending the enemy into confusion. 

“It is my great honor to present the Honor Graduate Award to Airman O’Neill.” Col Harding couldn’t wipe the evil grin off of his face as he took the award from a stunned TSgt Vega and presented it to Jon.

Jon was almost stock-still at attention. He took the award automatically. But all he could see was the confused face of Chief Gunderson as he realized what Col Harding was saying. Almost in a panic, Jon looked over to where the President was sitting to see that he was also grinning evilly, and not too far beyond him, Jack. 

Oh crap! It was a conspiracy. 

Once he had received his award, he quickly exited the stage and tried unsuccessfully to escape. But the back stage area had no exit. The only way out was through the crowd. Double crap!

Skoke watched him while he contemplated escape. Finally, he came over, “I guess they’re not going to recycle you.”

“No, more like draw and quarter me at dawn,” he replied trying to stay his panic.

“What do you mean? Col Harding still awarded you Honor Graduate, even though he knew you pulled all those pranks,” Skoke replied, confused.

Jon calmed down enough to start thinking, “That just means that they won’t do anything officially. But they still have my ass in a sling until I depart Saturday. And the good Colonel just informed the PJ’s who swiped their flag and pulled all those pranks.”

“Oh… I don’t get it. What can they do if they don’t recycle you?” Skoke asked.

“I really don’t want to know,” Jon stated.

“Well, at least you’ll be clear until 1800 tonight. It’s not like your family is going to dig you for it.”

Jon laughed, “Yeah, right. I have to attend a party ‘in my honor’ that will include everyone who wants to schmooze the President, who, if I’m not mistaken, is in on the whole thing.”

“What thing?”

“The ‘lets make Jon miserable’ thing… ya know?” 

Skoke looked confused, “Uh… no. I don’t.”

Jon sighed, “Don’t worry about it. At least Col Harding didn’t reveal who else was on that infiltration party.”

At that thought, Skoke paled, “Yeah, that would have been bad.”

“For you, yeah… Okay, help me think here, what is the best exit strategy?” Jon peeked out of the curtain hiding the Airmen from the audience. The auditorium was setup like most movie theaters with two aisles. He noticed that Chief Gunderson was seated on the far side. If he could hide behind, say a really tall trainee, and then he might just escape down the near aisle. Of course, that meant he had to abandon Cassie, Jack, and the gang to run for his life.

The strategy had promise, but Cassie would be disappointed. Damn! That means that I have to take my medicine like a man. Oh well, ‘que sera, sera.’ He gave a resigned sigh as the last squadron presented its Honor Graduates. He would face it like a man. 

“So, what’s the plan?” Skoke asked.

“Oh… I just suck it up and press on,” Jon replied.

“Really?”

“Really.”

They both heard the MC bring the ceremony to a close and listened as the audience waited for the President to leave.

“Alright, see you tonight at the dorm,” Skoke said as he quickly made his way out to his family. 

Jon waited a few more moments as Col Harding steered TSgt Vega down one aisle talking quickly. TSgt Vega didn’t appear happy and that didn’t bode well for Jon in the near future. Finally, Jon emerged from the shadows in time to see his friend sweep up his little sister in a big hug. Smiling, he made his way down to his own ‘family.’ 

All of them seemed to be amused and had a smile on their faces. Okay, temporary reprieve from the practical joke backlash. Sam was the first to comment, “Remote dialing program, now where have I heard that one before,” she teased.

“What can I say, I was inspired…” Jon joked, still scanning the auditorium for lurkers with jump boots and PJ wings.

Daniel interjected, “Now, what has me curious is the ‘picture perfect knowledge’ and ‘100% on his academic tests.’” He turned a glare at Jon and then turned it on Jack.

“What?” the replied in unison.

General Hammond chuckled, “I don’t even want to know what you did to earn the ‘squadron-wide morale program’ comment, though I already have a pretty good idea. Congratulations, son.”

“Thank you, Sir.” Jon looked up and could see that almost everyone had left the auditorium. But Chief Gunderson was still patiently waiting his turn to dig into Jon.

Okay, think offense, not defense. “Chief Gunderson, I’m glad you could make it. You remember my uncle, General Jack O’Neill.” Think happy thoughts, Jon. The nice Chief doesn’t want to eat you for breakfast. 

The Chief was so intent on his target that he was startled by the introduction. So, was Jack. Both men turned to appraise the other carefully before they broke out into huge grins that ended in a big bear hug. 

“Meatball, it really is you,” Jack stated, pulling back.

“Yes, Sir, in the flesh,” the Chief replied.

“Meatball?” Daniel asked Sam quietly. She only replied with a shrug.

“Sweet,” Jack turned back to the rest of the group. “Kids, this here is the reason you’ve had me on your sixes for the last… how many years is it now, Sir?”

“I believe I retired after eight, Jack,” General Hammond replied.

“Eight years… who’d a thunk?” Jack continued. “Any whoo, this is the guy who saved my sorry ass… ss-soul… back in 1991. So, if you’re looking for someone to blame… Daniel… this is the man. Kids, Meatball… Meatball, the kids… and, um, General Hammond.”

“Thanks, Jack… I think…” Daniel stepped forward. “I’m Dr. Daniel Jackson. This is General Hammond, Teal’c, Lt Col Samantha Carter, and Cassie Frasier. You already know Jon and Jack.”

The Chief gave them each a handshake and a polite nod, “Nice to meet you.”

Jack turned back to the Chief, “Chief, huh. Belated felicitations all around!”

“Yeah, thank you, Sir. I have to say Major General is pretty impressive. Especially after that stunt you pulled on Colonel Chase…”

Jack shushed him quickly, “Hey, no giving the kids ideas…”

Chief Gunderson looked him over critically, and nodded to himself before saying, “Seriously, Sir, you look good. The desk job must agree with you,” he stated as sadness seeped into his eyes. 

Jack just shook his head, “Not really. I think it’s making me fat.” He patted is non-existent stomach affectionately. 

Daniel snorted, “Right, Jack. It has nothing to do with the two pieces of pie you had at lunch.”

Jack turned an appraising eye on Daniel, “Are you saying I’m fat, Daniel?”

Daniel, after years of working with Jack, could sense the verbal trap, “Um… no.” Cassie giggled at their antics and Sam looked like she was only controlling her laughter through sheer will. 

“Good.” Jack turned back to Chief Gunderson, “Chief, Meatball, it really is good to see you again. I’ll give you a call sometime. I’d like to catch up. See what the old crew has been up to… ya know?”

“I’d like that, Sir.” The Chief turned back to the others, “Again, nice meeting you.” He gave Jon an appraising look through narrowed eyes, “I’ll talk to you later, Airman.” Then he turned and gave the group a small wave before he left the auditorium.

Sam turned a questioning look to Jon.

“Think infiltration… The aggressors were the new pipeline PJ indoctrinees. Chief was sort of in-charge of ‘em,” Jon replied casually. 

General Hammond’s laugh caught him by surprise, “You just got to keep tweaking the nose of the bull, don’t you, son?”

“Yeah… well… it’s what I do,” Jon answered.

Jack checked his watch, “Alright, kids… and Sir, we got just enough time to change and make it to the party.” Jack gave Jon an excited grin, “You up for a lu’au?”

“Of course,” Jon replied, “As long as there’s cake. It’s just not a party without cake.”

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

Jon finally returned to the dorm with just two minutes to spare. It had taken all of his special ops skills to successfully navigate from the BMT reception center where he had to sign-in to the Squadron and up to his dorm without being seen. Not that he was sure the PJ’s were looking for him, but you could never be too careful. Special Ops guys could be sneaky, especially when pissed.

Jon was no sooner in the dorm then he was surrounded by his Flight-mates. Apparently, Ruso had taken it upon himself to inform the whole Flight of what Col Harding had said during the Honor Graduate and Warhawk awards ceremony. He tried to deflect the accolades and attention of his Flight-mates, but they persisted until TSgt Vega called the whole dorm to Attention.

“Stand by your bunks for roll-call. MOVE!” TSgt Vega’s voice carried through the dorm and the Flight scrambled in response. “Dorm Guard, secure the dorm until roll-call is complete.

“YES, SIR!” the trainee standing guard answered. He was from Fifth WOT and filling in while Jon’s Flight had base liberty.

TSgt Vega casually strolled down each bay checking to ensure that every occupied bunk had a body next to it. Once he was certain that his trainees were all in place, he called them all to the day room. The Flight scrambled to the dayroom. 

TSgt Vega stood at the front of the Flight grinning. His smile was slowly returned by each of the new Airmen. “Well, you did it. You made it through the first day of the graduation ceremonies. One more day to go. And tomorrow is a doozie. Graduation Parade complete with Presidential speech and Open House. Followed by your first taste of freedom. But let’s not let that go to your heads. 

“By now you have all heard that the Dorm Chief is our practical joker. Yes, Colonel Harding and I both know this and have taken steps accordingly. DO NOT think for one minute that he is getting away with it. We just chose not to disrupt the President’s visit. Instead, Airman O’Neill is departing our Flight one day early, while the rest of you are on Town Liberty. I’ll leave his punishment to your imaginations. In the mean time, you are free to discuss the issue here in the dorm. Outside of these walls, the information is classified. Understood?”

“YES, SIR!”

“Good. Now, this dorm still needs cleaned before lights out. Get to work!” The Flight scattered to their assigned tasks.

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

Jack and the rest of the SGC group met over breakfast to plan their day. The Graduation Parade was a given, and Cassie was dead set on seeing the Dormitory, but after than, none of the group could agree on a single destination. 

The military members had already seen all the sights in the San Antonio area over their years of service. Daniel had no interest in the recent history of the city. Cassie just wanted to spend time with everyone. Only Teal’c had offered a destination. He wanted to see the zoo. The group finally agreed to let Jon decide and if he deferred, they would go to the zoo by default. 

They arrived at the BMT Reception Center with plenty of time to spare and took the early bus to the Graduation Parade Grounds. They found a seat near the edge of the bleachers, hoping to make a quick exit. Once again Cassie was bouncing with excitement and asking a thousand questions about the ceremony and the significance of various aspects. And once again, the group tried to answer her questions as quickly as she could ask them, only to be saved at last, by the Master of Ceremonies announcing the arrival of the BMT Flights.

As Jon’s Flight was announced, Cassie jumped up and tried to spot Jon among all the young men in the Flight. “Do you see him? I don’t see him. Where is he?”

Jack gave a long suffering sigh, “At the back on the other side, Cass. Same place as yesterday.” 

“Well no wonder I can’t see him. Why is he back there?”

“I would think that the reason was obvious,” Jack stated sagely.

“Really, why then?” Cassie said, not sensing the trap.

“Well, to keep you from seeing him, of course.” Jack stated with a smirk.

Cassie punched his arm. 

“Ouch! Hey, no beating up an old man. What kinds of things are they teaching you at that school?” Jack made a big show of rubbing his arm, trying and failing to get any sympathy from the rest of the group. Luckily, he was saved by the sound of the band. “Finally. I thought it would never start.”

The group watched as a group of senior officers came to attention and marched forward to stop in a perfect line. Next the officers in front of each Flight came to Attention and executed an about face so they were looking at their formation. 

“What are they doing, Uncle Jack?” Cassie asked.

“They’re getting ready to march onto the parade ground. The bugle call you heard is called the Adjutant’s Call. It lets the Group Commanders, that first bunch, know to start the ceremony. See, now the Squadron Commanders are marching the squadrons onto the Review Line,” Jack explained as they watched the Squadron commanders. “Now, they are putting them in Close Interval for the march.” 

“Who’s that?” Cassie asked as a group of several officers walked to the center of the reviewing stand before halting. 

Jack eyed the group, “The Troop Commander and his staff, I think.”

One of the officers moved from behind the leader and took position several paces before halting, “GUIDES… POST.” His command was clearly heard over the huge parade ground.

The Flight guides moved into position from the rear so they were now standing in front of the first element of each Flight.

“Who is he?” Cassie asked again, this time referring to the officer giving orders.

Jack had no clue and while he was trying to form a smart-ass reply General Hammond answered for him, “That’s the Wing Adjutant. He acts as a Second in Command to the Commander of Troops. 

“GIVE YOUR GROUPS PARADE REST,” the Wing Adjutant ordered, after the guides had stopped in their new positions.

The Group Commanders gave the order, “GROUP.”

“SQUADRON,” echoed the Squadron Commanders as they relayed the order. 

“PARADE.”

“PARADE.”

“REST.” The trainees complied with the order all at the same time, snapping into position in a stunning display of precision. 

“Wow!” was Daniel’s quiet reply. 

The Wing Adjutant, still at attention, commanded, “IN PLACE, SOUND OFF.” The band promptly began to play.

Cassie looked confused, “How come they are saying ‘Group’ and ‘Squadron’ today when yesterday they said ‘Squadron’ and ‘Flight’?”

“I don’t know,” Hammond replied.

Sam smiled, “Yesterday, the Commander of the 737th Training Group was the Commander of Troops. Today, according to the agenda, the Commander of the 37th Training Wing, Lt General Harrison is in command.”

“GIVE YOUR GROUPS ATTENTION,” the Wing Adjutant commanded. 

“Oh, okay,” Cassie replied, sounding just as bewildered as before.

“A bigger commander needs bigger groups of people to command,” Jack interpreted, unhelpfully. But he was rewarded with a giggle from Cassie and a resigned sigh from Sam.

“GROUP,” came the command. 

“SQUADRON,” was the echoing command.

“ATTENTION.” The trainees all snapped to attention. 

“Please rise for the President of the United States…” the Master of Ceremonies’ voice stated over the PA system followed by the Presidential March from the band. 

The whole crowd rose as President Hayes and his party walked from the side to the reviewing stand at the center of the bleachers. The President waved to the crowd and seated his wife before taking his place at the front of the reviewing stand. A young Airman bearing the Presidential flag stepped into position behind him, mirroring the guidon bearers on the parade ground. 

Once the reviewing party was in place, the MC relayed, “Please take your seats I would first like to welcome President Hayes and the First Lady, Mrs. Margaret Hayes. Our Commander of Troops for this parade is Lt General Harrison, commander of the 37th Training Wing. His Wing Adjutant is Major General Thompson, commander of the 433rd Airlift Wing. Thank you for attending our ceremony today.” 

“GIVE YOUR GROUPS PRESENT ARMS,” ordered the Wing Adjutant.

“GROUP.”

“SQUADRON.”

“PRESENT.”

“PRESENT.”

“ARMS.” The trainees snapped a salute and held it in place.

Upon completion of the command, the Wing Adjutant executed an about face and saluted Lt General Harrison. “Sir, the parade is formed,” he reported. 

General Harrison returned the salute, “Take your post.”

The Wing Adjutant dropped his salute and moved briskly to his position behind the General.

“GIVE YOUR GROUPS ORDER ARMS,” General Harrison ordered.

“GROUP.”

“SQUADRON.”

“ORDER.”

“ORDER.”

“ARMS.” The trainees dropped their salutes in unison.

The voice of the MC quietly continued his narrative of the ceremony, “The ceremonial parade has been used for centuries by military units all over the world. It provides an occasion for military members to express their pride in their performance, in their service, and in their chosen profession of Arms. It displays, in its most visual form, the battle discipline of the troops in review.

“The United States Air Force uses the ceremonial parade to demonstrate the proficiency and training state of the Airmen under review, to honor distinguished persons, or to celebrate and recognize special events. Today’s Graduation Parade is to commemorate all three.” 

“RECEIVE THE REPORT,” ordered General Harrison.

The Wing Adjutant immediately moved from his position behind the General to his original position several paces before the General. “REPORT.”

The commander of the first squadron saluted and held it in place as he gave his report, “320th Training Squadron, all present or accounted for, Sir.”

The Wing Adjutant returned the commander’s salute and minutely turned to face the next commander. 

“321st Training Squadron, all present or accounted for, Sir.” 

Once again, the Wing Adjutant returned the salute. He continued to receive the report from all the training squadrons. After the last squadron gave its report, the Wing Adjutant executed an about face and saluted General Harrison, “Sir, all present and accounted for.”

General Harrison returned his salute.

The MC continued his narrative, “The Airmen standing before you are the newest members of the United States Air Force. Today’s ceremony is to celebrate their successful completion of Basic Military Training and to welcome them into the United States Air Force.”

“PUBLISH THE ORDERS,” General Harrison ordered.

At the General’s command, the Wing Adjutant executed an about face to read the orders to the formation. “ATTENTION TO ORDERS. Members assigned to Flights 1340, 1341, 1342, 1343, 1344, and 1345 in the 737th Training Group, 37th Training Wing, have successfully completed all the requirements of Basic Military Training for the United States Air Force on this day, the 5th of August, in the year 2005, by order of Colonel James H. Mosby, commander of the 737th Training Group, Lackland Air Force Base.”

The crowd of family members gave a hearty cheer as the Wing Adjutant finished. He waited until the crowd was quiet once more before continuing, “OFFICERS.”

At his command, all the officers and their guidon bearers in all the squadrons took several measured steps forward and stopped. 

“CENTER, MARCH,” the Wing Adjutant continued.

The officers and guidon bearers all turned towards center and marched in step. Once assembled in the center, they marched in step to a position just before the Wing Adjutant. Then with perfect timing, they all saluted General Harrison. As the commanders, moved off to the center, the Blue Rope TI’s moved from their positions at the back of the Flight to the commander’s former position.

General Harrison returned the salute, “ORDER, ARMS. OFFICERS, POST, MARCH.” 

With the General’s command, the officers, guidon bearers and the Blue Rope TI’s all returned to their original positions in the formation. 

Once they reached their positions, the Wing Adjutant executed an about face, “Sir, I present the command.”

Jack was smiling like a proud papa. Next to him, General Hammond was also smiling proudly. The sight of the Airmen in formation was impressive. Both men knew that it took a significant amount of time to instill that kind of timing and discipline in raw recruits. But they weren’t the only ones who could appreciate the skill it took to put this formation on display. 

Teal’c was also quietly nodding and displaying a small smile, “It is indeed a most impressive sight,” remarked Teal’c quietly, so as not to interrupt the ceremony. 

“GIVE YOUR GROUPS PRESENT ARMS,” General Harrison ordered. 

“GROUP.”

“SQUADRON.”

“PRESENT.”

“PRESENT.”

“ARMS.” The trainees snapped a salute and held it in place.

General Harrison next addressed his own staff and flag bearer, “STAFF, CHANGE POST, MARCH.” 

The General, his aide, the Wing Adjutant, and flag bearer all executed an about face and saluted President Hayes in perfect sync. “Sir, I present the command.” 

President Hayes seemed slightly in awe of the sight before him. But he remembered his queue and returned the General’s salute with a crisp salute of his own. 

“STAFF, ORDER, ARMS. GIVE YOUR GROUPS ORDER ARMS,” General Harrison ordered. His staff dropped their salutes again with perfect timing.

“GROUP.”

“SQUADRON.”

“ORDER.”

“ORDER.”

“ARMS.” The trainees dropped their salutes in unison.

President Hayes was quickly becoming overwhelmed by his own emotions. He didn’t remember military ceremonies being this powerful before. However, this time he was in awe of the group before him. He nearly missed his next line, but his own aide reminded him with a subtle clearing of his throat. “PRESENT THE COMMAND,” he ordered in his best parade voice.

General Harrison executed an about face, ““GIVE YOUR GROUPS PRESENT ARMS.”

“GROUP.”

“SQUADRON.”

“PRESENT.”

“PRESENT.”

“ARMS.” The trainees snapped a salute and held it in place.

The MC’s voice once more rolled through the air, “Please rise for the playing of the National Anthem and the presentation of the Colors. It is traditional for military members, both active and retired to stand at attention and salute the flag. Members of the civilian community are encouraged to honor the flag by standing and placing their hand over their heart…”

“STAFF, PRESENT, ARMS,” General Harrison ordered. As his group executed their salutes, the band began to play the National Anthem and the Color Guard made the slow measured march through the center of the parade grounds, coming to a halt directly across from the President in the reviewing stand.

Tears were streaming from the President’s eyes as he lowered his own salute to the flag after the last notes of the song faded from the parade ground. He was gratified by the quiet sniffles he could hear behind him. At least, he wasn’t the only one so deeply affected by this ceremony. 

“STAFF, ORDER, ARMS. GIVE YOUR GROUPS ORDER ARMS,” General Harrison ordered. 

“GROUP.”

“SQUADRON.”

“ORDER.”

“ORDER.”

“ARMS.” The trainees dropped their salutes in unison.

“GIVE YOUR GROUPS PARADE REST.”

“GROUP.”

“SQUADRON.”

“PARADE.”

“PARADE.”

“REST.” The trainees snapped into the new position of parade rest.

“STAFF, PARADE, REST,” the General ordered. His own staff mimicked the trainees by snapping into position.

President Hayes eyed the trainees arrayed before him. He glanced down at his prepared speech and smiled and addressed the trainees, “Airmen, I stand before you to share your excitement and joy as we celebrate this important first milestone in your new career. This is hopefully the first of many such milestones in a long career. 

“Your families, your friends, your peers, and myself are standing here to honor your commitment to this country. You have sworn to protect this country. It is an easy thing to say, in the abstract. But the reality is that YOU have sworn to protect your family, your friends, and your peers. You have sworn to protect me, as a citizen of this country. 

“And for that we all honor and thank you, the newest of the Air Force. And we thank all those men and women who have dedicated themselves to the same cause. I thank you, both as a President and as a citizen. 

“As a former Airman, I also welcome you. You have demonstrated all the qualities listed in our core values; integrity first, service before self, and excellence in all we do. If you didn’t, then you would not be standing before us now. Congratulations! This is a job well done.” As President Hayes finished his short speech, he gave General Harrison a nod. 

“STAFF, ATTENTION,” the General ordered. His staff snapped to attention with him. “GIVE YOUR GROUPS ATTENTION.”

“GROUP.”

“SQUADRON.”

“ATTENTION,” the trainees snapped to attention, once again displaying the precision that they earned in their hours of drill practice.

General Harrison did an about face and saluted President Hayes. 

Not missing a beat, President Hayes returned the salute and ordered, “MARCH THE COMMAND IN REVIEW.”

Once again, General Harrison did an about face. “STAFF, CHANGE POST, MARCH.” His staff re-arraigned themselves behind him. “PASS IN REVIEW,” he commanded. 

The order started a chain reaction in the waiting formation. The group commanders ordered a column of squadrons and the squadrons began to parade along the outside of the parade ground in single file. Meanwhile, the band began to play as they changed positions, removing themselves from the parade route in front of the reviewing stand. 

The crowd of family members began cheering as they located their particular Airman as he or she marched past. When the first squadron finally reached the review stand, the squadron commander called ‘eyes, right’ and the heads of the Airmen snapped to a 45 degree angle as they passed the reviewing stand. The first row of Airmen continued to keep eyes to the front, ensuring the Flight stayed on course. 

“I see him,” Cassie cried, excitedly. “There at the front.” The rest of the SGC group turned and finally found Jon in the guide position for his Flight. All around them, family members were also crying, clapping, and shouting as they celebrated the achievement of the new Airmen. There wasn’t a sad or dry-eyed face in the crowd. 

Finally, the last squadron finished the circuit of the parade ground and resumed its original position. The squadron commanders called their squadrons to a halt and waited for the next order. 

The voice of the MC one last time, “This concludes our ceremony today. Thank you for joining us. Please remain standing and in place for the departure of the Presidential party…” The band played the Presidential March as the President and his wife rose and their party filed out of the area, smiling and waving. 

The crowd waited anxiously as the Flights continued to stand at rigid attention. “STAFF, CHANGE POST, MARCH,” General Harrison commanded. The crowd grew quiet as the final orders were given. 

Then General Harrison finally gave the command everyone had been waiting for, “DISMISS THE COMMAND.” General Harrison and his staff waited at attention. 

“GROUP.”

“SQUADRON.”

“DISMISSED.” The entire formation of trainees executed an about face at the same time, displaying their last uniform movement. The crowd of family went wild and surged forward toward the trainees. 

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

Jon and the rest of his Flight were finally dismissed. They stood milling about glowing in the success of the Graduation parade. Jon shook his head as Skoke, grinning like a fool, danced a little jig. 

“Come on, Skoke. Let’s blow this popsicle stand,” Jon was getting antsy. The sooner he got over to stands, the sooner he could vacate the base and more easily avoid Chief Gunderson. Jon had noticed the Chief at the parade as they were marching and wanted to avoid that awkward conversation for as long as possible.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s go. I can’t wait for you to meet my family.” Skoke started to push through the crowd of family members. He had pre-arranged to have his family meet him near the center of the bleachers. 

Jon wasn’t exactly sure where Jack and the gang were, but he was in no particular hurry to find them. It would be impossible to find them quickly in this mess anyway. He was far more concerned that Chief Gunderson would show up first. 

They made their way past small family groups and were skirting the outside of the parade grounds when Jon saw him. He had been scanning the area trying to locate the Chief and avoid detection, when he first saw him. 

‘Ba’al,” he gasped. 

“What?” Skoke asked. His friend turned and noticed the look on his face. “Dorm Chief? What’s wrong?”

Jon went into combat mode like a switch had been flipped. He grabbed his friend by the arms and proceeded to give him rapid fire instructions, “Find the Secret Service. Tell them to get a message to Agent Richards. Tell them we have a Foothold situation. Do you understand?” 

“Yes, but…?” Skoke replied then stopped. He gave a firm nod and sprinted off in the direction the Presidential party had left. 

\- Jack! – Jon gave a mental shout. –Ba’al is on the west side of the parade grounds. Get your ass over here!-

-What the hell!?- was Jack’s only reply. –Teal’c, Carter, Daniel, and I are on the way.-

Jon watched as Ba’al slowly made his way from the crowd and into the surrounding trees. Jon slid into the tree line behind him and drew his pistol from the ankle holster. He was only in the trees a few feet when he heard a sound behind him. He spun around, weapon ready, prepared to find an angry Goa’uld. What he found instead was a very frightened and confused TI. 

Jon saw TSgt Vega draw breath to speak, and Jon instantly stopped him with a hand gesture. Then he motioned the TI to stay behind him as he continued to stalk his prey through the thin trees. They rounded a small hill to find Ba’al waiting for him. 

“I’m disappointed,” Ba’al stated, as he leaned casually on a tree across the small clearing. “Here I paraded around hoping to catch a great Tau’ri warrior. Instead, I am stalked by a chal’tii.” 

Jon stayed to the edge of the clearing. He motioned TSgt Vega to stay back, since he was unarmed. “Aray kree, ha’taaka!” 

“Such language, child. Don’t you know who I am?” Ba’al stood up and sauntered into the center of the clearing. “I am your god,” Ba’al said, his voice resonating. 

Jon laughed out loud, startling both Ba’al and Vega. –Jack! What’s taking so long?- Jon knew that Ba’al was taunting him. Ba’al didn’t know about Jon. Or at least that Jon carried Jack’s memories. “You are no god. You are a snake. Or, more likely, a cheap copy of snake. I doubt that you rate the whole godhood gig.”

“You dare mock me, calmah?” Ba’al actually started to look angry, but was trying to remain casual. 

Jon skirted around the trees a bit more, hoping to find better cover. He gave Ba’al one of his patented O’Neill grins, “Ba’al, come on. Of course I dare mock you.”

Ba’al froze in place. His eyes narrowed as he examined Jon closely. “An O’Neill,” he spat. “I should have known.” 

“Yeah, ya always were a bit on the slow side, Bocce.” Ba’al cocked his head to one side. In the distance, they could hear shouts. 

-Hurry up!- Jon screamed mentally at Jack. 

Ba’al’s next words brought his full attention back to the snake, “I had hoped for the older O’Neill, but his offspring will do as well.” Ba’al made a move with his hand, exposing his hand device. He aimed and fired a pulse at Jon. 

Jon ducked and rolled out of the way as the tree next to him splintered from the impact of the blast. “Sorry to disappoint you, Bouncy Ball, but I’m not his son.” Jon aimed and squeezed off a round. The bullet bounced off Ba’al’s personal shield. 

“Why can’t it ever be easy?” Jon swore to himself. He dove and rolled again as Ba’al fired another pulse in his direction. “Ah hell, who wants to live forever?” he sighed and then he ran straight at Ba’al. 

Just as Ba’al raised the hand device to fire again, Jon tucked into a forward roll. Ba’al’s shot passed over him harmlessly. He launched from his roll into a leap that caught Ba’al dead center. The two rolled and Jon was able to successfully pull the hand device off, before Ba’al gained the upper hand and pinned him face down on the ground. He wasn’t sure exactly when he lost his gun. But he was sure that he could have used it at this point. 

“You cannot defeat a god, child,” Ba’al’s smooth voice crooned, in his ear. 

Jon started to laugh. He laughed loud and long, covering the noise of Jack and the team approaching quickly through the scrub. He just had to hold out a few more seconds.

“Wanna bet?” TSgt Vega answered from less than a foot away. Jon felt Ba’al tense as TSgt Vega pressed the muzzle of Jon’s pistol into the back of his head. “Now, get up slowly. If you try anything, I won’t hesitate to pull the trigger.” 

“And if he does hesitate, I’ll pull mine,” Jack’s voice floated across the clearing.

“Ah, O’Neill,” Ba’al replied coolly, without so much as twitching a muscle. “Your skills as a marksman are well known among my Jaffa. But can you kill me before I kill this boy?... I think not.” Jon winced as Ba’al twisted his arm further up his back. 

-Damn it! Do something!- Jon struggled in Ba’al’s grasp, “Er täuscht, alter Mann. Eintragfaden hoch,” he shouted. “Jetzt!”

Four pistols fired simultaneously. Ba’al dropped slowly on top of Jon, dead. 

Teal’c was the only one with his weapon un-fired. “I am afraid I do not speak that language, O’Neill.”

“It’s German, Teal’c,” Jon said as he pushed the limp body away. “And I was counting on Ba’al not knowing it.”

“A wise selection, indeed,” Teal’c replied bowing his head, respectfully. 

Jon stood up and stretched his muscles, feeling out the damage that Ba’al had inflicted on him. Finding only soreness and minor pain in his muscles, he gave the group a grin. “What took you guys so long?”

Jack ignored him. Sam smirked. And Daniel stood mouth agape. “You’re welcome, Jon,” Daniel huffed. 

“Well, at least we know he’s alright,” Sam soothed her team-mate. 

“Oh?” Daniel queried.

“Yeah, he’s complaining. It’s when he stops complaining you got to watch out,” Sam replied. 

“Hey,” Jack complained, “I resemble that remark.” He gave Sam and Daniel a dark look and then gave up as the two fell into a fit of giggles. 

“See, what I have to put up with? Absolutely no respect.” Jack said to TSgt Vega as he holstered his pistol and went over to inspect the body. 

Jon felt the adrenaline start to fade from his system. He knew that the shakes would be next. But right now, he felt sticky. Ew! He was covered in Ba’al bits. He was about to demand a shower, when the Secret Service finally arrived in force. 

“EVERYBODY, FREEZE. THROW YOUR WEAPONS DOWN AND PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR,” the first agent shouted at the group. 

The group complied and let the Secret Service take their weapons. Finally, Special Agent Richards arrived breathing heavily. “I’m on scene now, Sir,” he said into his radio. 

Special Agent Richards took in the people in the clearing, both the standing and the fallen. He went over to the body, and peered into the back of the skull. Taking note of the tell-tale blue stain of symbiote blood, he finally nodded. “Let’em go. They’re clean.” He turned to Jack, “General, the President would like a full report immediately. The Airman said that we had a Foothold. What is our status?”

Jack’s demeanor immediately changed from relaxed to commanding. “Only one double sighted. He was immediately followed and engaged Col. O’Neill before he could be contained. You saw what was left of him. Unless there are more doubles in the area, we should be clear.”

“Understood. I’ll radio ahead. Special Agent Nelson will escort you to the President.” Richards turned and relayed the order to clear the area of other doubles before the all clear could be given. 

“If you’ll follow me, Sir,” Special Agent Nelson escorted Jack out of the ring of Agents and was given a pistol to replace the one that was currently being bagged as evidence. Before he was out of sight, he gave Sam and Daniel piercing looks. They both glanced at Jon before nodding. 

Jon wasn’t watching the group, he was back to feeling sticky. By chance, he noticed TSgt Vega standing off to one side, staring at the body. Jon recognized the look in his eyes. He was certain it was the same look that he still got on occasion. The sergeant didn’t even feel the gore that covered him from firing at point blank range. 

“What just happened here?” TSgt Vega asked Jon quietly when Jon stepped up beside him. 

Jon considered the question carefully. “You saved my life,” he finally stated.

TSgt Vega chuckled, “Yeah, I guess I did.”

“Thanks, by the way,” Jon added casually.

TSgt Vega turned towards him and really looked at him. Jon could still see the ghost haunting the man. TSgt Vega was the kind of man who would regret killing Ba’al. But he would willingly live with the regret if he found it was worth the price. Jon understood that kind of regret. It mirrored his own.

But whatever, TSgt Vega saw in Jon, reassured him. He smiled as he finally replied, “You’re welcome.” Then he frowned in thought, “How did you know I spoke German?” he asked Jon.

Jon broke out in a broad grin, “I didn’t. But I did know that both Daniel and Jack would understand it. I wasn’t so sure about Carter, but I guess that doesn’t matter now.”

TSgt Vega chuckled, “Then how did you know that guy was bluffing?”

Jon’s smile faded a bit, “He wasn’t.”

TSgt Vega’s eyes widened in surprise and then slowly nodded in acceptance. His eyes wandered back to the body. “Who was he?”

“Someone who will NEVER torture anyone to death again,” Jon stated firmly. 

“O’Neill, we are being asked to leave so that the agents may secure the scene,” Teal’c’s deep voice interrupted. 

Jon took a deep breath and took one last look at the body. He finally straightened and turned, “Carter, stay with the body. Teal’c and Daniel, you’re on me. TSgt Vega, we need to get cleaned up without making a scene. I would recommend the TI shower room. We can send an Airman for a spare uniform. I’m sure the Secret Service will want us both to be available for questioning later.” 

Jon started to make his way back to the parade ground. He was only a few feet from clearing the trees when he remembered that he was covered in blood and gore. He stopped and turned to one of the Special Agents in their escort, “We can’t be seen by the families like this. Have someone send a car to us here.”

“Yes, Sir,” the agent replied and immediately got on the radio to relay the request. 

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

The group arrived at the squadron just in advance of the hordes of family members that were being escorted on foot by the trainees for Open House. Jon and TSgt Vega marched quickly past the CQ and into the TI locker room trying to avoid the shocked looks of the few TI’s that were present and waiting the visiting family members. 

The poor TI on CQ duty tried to follow them into the locker room, only to be stopped by Teal’c blocking the doorway. The only time the door opened was when Daniel relayed Jon’s request to have Airman Skoke fetch him a new uniform, when he arrived at the squadron. 

Once they were both showered and dressed in a clean uniform, the Secret Service agents allowed them to return to the dorm with the promise that they would stay inside until the all clear had been received. Jon was willing as long as Daniel and Teal’c could stay as well, at least until the All Clear was given. TSgt Vega agreed to stay only because he had already planned on catching up on paperwork in his office. 

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

TSgt Vega finished the Open House in a numb daze. He felt like the whole scene before him was unreal. He was able to greet the family members without too much difficulty, even the quick visit with President Hayes just felt like an extension of the surrealism surrounding the day.

At odd quiet moments, he would flash back to that clearing. He could feel the gun in his hand and feel the kick of the recoil as he fired. He would again hear the kid’s quiet words of reassurance, as if he had been there before and understood. And it helped. 

Perhaps, the kid had been in his place before. At least it seemed to TSgt Vega that the kid was also haunted by ghosts. In fact, from the way the other two hovered over the kid, it was like they expected him to break at any moment. Not that the kid let on that anything was wrong, but he had the quiet look. That same one he had at the Code of Conduct briefing, distant and pained. 

Not that the knowledge helped TSgt Vega feel any better about himself. All his years in Security Forces had exposed him to the possibility of drawing his weapon when an Airman resisted arrest. He had even seen men dead before, as he helped to secure the scene of a homicide or vehicle accident. But he had never seen a man dead by his own hand before. He had never been the cause of another man’s death before. 

‘You saved my life.’ The kid’s words came back to him, giving his self-hatred pause. ‘Thanks.’

TSgt Vega may be a TI now, but he had spent a little over 10 years in Security Forces. 10 years of throwing himself between the threat and the asset. 10 years of breaking up fights, guarding the airplanes, and defending the base from incursions. And in 10 years, the kid was the first one to say ‘thanks.’

It gave TSgt Vega a whole new perspective on the whole scene in the clearing. He wouldn’t have changed anything, but he still had doubts. Could he have done anything else? Was killing the only option?

“TSgt Vega?” the dorm guard interrupted his thoughts.

TSgt Vega turned to the trainee, “Yes?”

“Sir, a Chief Gunderson is at the door seeking entry. He’s not on the list, Sir.”

“Thank you, Trainee. I’ll take it from here.” TSgt Vega got up from behind his desk and went to the door. He stepped outside to meet with Chief Gunderson followed by the Secret Service agent guarding the dorm. 

“Chief, can I help you?” he started.

“TSgt Vega, I want to talk to Airman O’Neill. The CQ said he was still here,” the Chief stated. He didn’t seem too upset anymore, but he was definitely insistent. “Look, I didn’t tell anyone else about the little speech at the Honor Graduate ceremony. I just…. I guess, I just need to talk to him.”

TSgt Vega thought about what the kid had just gone through this morning. And on top of that, the Chief wanted to chew him out. His eyes narrowed and focused on the Chief, “No.”

The Chief blinked, his mouth wide open. “But…”

“No.” He turned back to the dorm door and knocked. 

The dorm guard opened the door and his Dorm Chief stepped out. “O’Neill?” he asked. The Secret Service agent immediately moved to intercept the kid. But the kid just waved him back. 

“It’s alright, TSgt Vega. He earned the right to an explanation a long time ago. Mind if we use your office?” The kid was different. In total control. O’Neill escorted the Chief into his office and firmly shut the door behind him, even blocking out his two shadows. 

A few minutes later, they both exited the office with satisfied grins. 

“Thanks, Chief. I’ll be sure to pass that on to my uncle,” Jon said as he escorted the Chief to the door. 

Once the door closed, TSgt Vega wanted to ask him if everything was alright. But he found that the question was unnecessary. The kid was fine. In fact, he was back to teasing the man that had been introduced as Dr. Daniel Jackson. It was a familiar ribbing, with plenty of inside jokes. So, TSgt Vega left them to it. 

Before long, the day had turned to evening and the rest of the trainees began to filter back into the dorm. The Secret Service had declared the ‘All Clear’ and left the dorm to prepare for the departure of Air Force One. Dr. Jackson and Teal’c left with them, leaving the Flight one last night together.

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

Saturday morning found Jon hauling his bags down the dorm steps closely followed by his Flight-mates. 

Air Force One had flown out the night before with Jack safely on board. The Secret Service had announced to the news media that they had foiled an assassination plot against President Hayes. Lackland Security Forces were applauded for their rapid response to the scene. No mention was made of Ba’al, Jon, Vega, Jack, or the rest of SG-1 and their involvement in the whole incident. 

With the Ba’al incident closed and the area clear of other Ba’al clones, Jon was allowed to spend his last night with his Flight, albeit with an extra Secret Service guard at the entrance, replacing their normal trainee dorm guard. They had spent much of the evening passing around stories about family and friends and their hopes for the future. Jon spent the time absorbing the whole normalcy of the scene, etching it into his memory. 

“This blows, man. Couldn’t they send you to the Academy on Sunday? You shouldn’t have to give up your town pass,” Ruso stated for the group.

Jon chuckled, “It’s alright, Ruso. The way I see it, I get to leave basic a whole two days early. Two for one.”

“True. But it still sucks.”

“Yeah, for you,” Jon snarked. “Besides, the flight is scheduled to leave today. Not tomorrow.”

The whole Flight had gathered around the taxi that was waiting to take Jon to the airport. Jon tossed his bags in the back and closed the trunk. Finally, turning to face his Flight-mates for the last time, he was surprised to see everyone gathered around, even TSgt Vega was standing in the group. 

Skoke stepped forward with a box, “Well, we couldn’t think of anything appropriate to say, so, we got you this.” He handed the box to Jon with a flourish.

Jon was stunned and honored. He gingerly took the box from his bunk-mate and smiled. “You shouldn’t have.” Then he opened it. The box exploded in a shower of blue and silver glitter, covering Jon and the taxi behind him. 

“Yeah, we probably shouldn’t have, but we couldn’t help it,” Skoke replied with a huge grin. 

Jon started laughing with the rest of his Flight-mates, as he started to brush the glitter off of his uniform. “I’ll miss you guys, too.” The goodbyes were short but everyone go to say their piece before Jon finally climbed into the taxi and headed for the airport. To TSgt Vega, he just gave a small, mischievous smile, and said “See you later.”

\--SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG----SG--

EPILOGUE

TSgt Vega finally strolled into the 322nd Training Squadron after three weeks off. He had taken the time after his last Flight graduated to cash in on some much deserved leave. He found that being responsible for whipping his yard into shape was much more relaxing than pushing a Flight through BMT. 

More relaxing, but not more rewarding. 

“Good Morning, TSgt Vega,” the CQ greeted him. 

“Good Morning, what’s on the schedule?” TSgt Vega asked with a smile.

“Not much. Col Harding wants to see you when you get settled,” the CQ reported.

TSgt Vega sighed. He dropped his things in his locker and absently pulled off a letter taped to the door. He closed his locker and sat down as he opened the letter and read the contents.

“WHAT?”

He rushed out of the locker room to Col Harding’s office, barely checking himself before he rushed in.

“TSgt Vega, good to see you back. How was your leave?” Col Harding asked casually.

“Sir, what is this?” he asked, tossing the orders to the Colonel.

Col Harding barely glanced at the orders before handing them back. “Orders, Sergeant.”

“But, Sir?”

“But nothing, TSgt Vega. You know how this works. You impressed some important people. They want you somewhere else. Didn’t you notice the promotion?” Col Harding chided with a soft smile.

TSgt Vega frowned and glanced back down at the orders. They did indeed come with a promotion. “I guess not, Sir.”

“Well, what are you waiting for? You have approximately 2 weeks to out-process and report to your new duty station at Cheyenne Mountain.”

TSgt Vega gave a shy smile and then saluted, “Yes, Sir.”

THE END (FOR NOW)


End file.
